Hunted
by Silivren Tinu
Summary: A horde of orcs is sent out from Dol Guldur on a deadly mission, and when Legolas and Aragorn cross paths with them it soon becomes clear that not only their lives are at stake, but also the fate of the entire Woodland Realm. Friendship, angst, hc.
1. Trapped

_**Author's Note 1:**__ This is the first time I've tried my hand on a long story, I hope you're going to like the result. :-) "Hunted" is part of my Mirkwood Tales. It is not necessary to have read any of my previous stories to understand it, but there will be slight references to other stories in that series (all the stories are listed in chronological order in my profile). All you really need to know is that, in this series, Aragorn and Legolas have known each other and been friends since Aragorn's early childhood. This is a story about friendship, not slash. _

_Feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome - I am always grateful if mistakes are pointed out to me. :)  
_

_**Note of Thanks:**__ I want to give a very special thank you to my wonderful editor, Imbecamiel. Working with her has not only encouraged me as a writer and improved my stories, but also taught me invaluable lessons about the English language. Hannon le, mellon-nîn! (((HUGS))) _

_I also want to thank WendWriter for spotting several mistakes in this chapter and helping me to correct them. :)  
_

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**Author:** Silivren Tinu

**Beta:** the wonderful Imbecamiel (hugs)

**Rating:** T (for violence)

**Summary:** A horde of orcs is sent out from Dol Guldur on a deadly mission, and when Legolas and Aragorn cross paths with them it soon becomes clear that not only their lives are at stake, but also the fate of the entire Woodland Realm. Friendship, angst, h/c. Pre-LotR. Characters: Legolas, Aragorn, Thranduil, Nestadren, and some friendly orcs. (eg)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or places that are recognizable from Tolkien's books. I do, however, own the plot, Nestadren, and Tuilinn. They are mine, my preciousssssssssss:D

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**- Hunted -**

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Chapter One: Trapped

"_To win the battle is to be prepared to die."  
_Musashi Miyamoto

The first thing he became aware of was pain, a dull, throbbing pain. There did not seem to be a part of his body that did not ache. For a while he simply lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing and the pounding of blood in his ears. Slowly his breathing evened out, and he noticed another sound, the dripping of rain. A light wind made the leaves above him rustle and sent a shower of raindrops over his prone body and on his face.

There was something soothing in the familiar sounds and the cool, clean water on his face was refreshing and made him long for more. Some of the drops ran down to his dry lips, and he licked them up. It made him feel a little bit better, though they were not even enough to moisten his parched throat. The earth and grass he lay on were cold and wet and smelled of rain, and spring, and green, growing things.

He inhaled the fresh air as deeply as his battered body would allow and felt his still-tense and cramped muscles slowly relax. He kept his eyes closed tightly, knowing what sight would await him if he opened them, and not ready to face it. He still lay on his right side, curled up on himself as far as possible in an attempt to protect himself which had failed completely.

His movements had been hindered by the facts that his hands were bound tightly behind his back and that one of his feet had been tied to a stake that had been driven into the ground to prevent him from moving away. Unable to do anything to defend himself, he had done what he had done so many times before now – given up and allowed them to have their way with him, drifting in and out of consciousness until darkness finally claimed him and he sank into welcome oblivion.

This beating had been worse than all the ones before, but he knew he had still been lucky so far. They had beaten him frequently, but not otherwise tortured or injured him severely yet. They were trying to break his spirit and keep him weak, but they still needed him to be able to walk or run as long as they were moving through territory that was patrolled by elves.

He had fallen into the hands of these orcs three days ago and since then his life had turned into a nightmare of pain and darkness. He had not expected to meet a horde of orcs as far north as the Elf Path – no, _they_ had not expected to meet orcs there. When the orcs had attacked, he had not been alone. He shied away from that thought. It brought a different kind of pain and threatened to wake memories that he knew he was not able to bear right now.

He had learned by now why the orcs had dared to venture so far north. They did not know that he understood their foul language and had talked among themselves quite often in front of their prisoner. Besides, they had not always known that he was conscious enough to hear them. They had been ordered by their Master to go north, capture an elf, and bring him back with them.

From what he had heard, they had already lost some of their number to the spiders and were still very nervous about the possibility of running into an elven patrol on their way back to the south. They were moving slowly and stealthily along the western rim of Mirkwood now. Their captive could have told them that they were in no danger of meeting any patrol on the way they had chosen, but the only thing this meant for him was that there was no chance of being saved in time.

The only good thing in his entire situation was that the orcs had no idea who their captive was. So far, they believed him to be just any elf, and none of them suspected that they had by chance captured the prince of the elven realm they hated so much and had fought against for so long now. At first Legolas had believed that they knew who he was, and had been sent after him, but he soon found out that this was not true. He had simply been the first elf to cross their path. Legolas had no doubt that his treatment would have been far worse if they had known.

Still, Legolas knew that his identity would not remain a secret for long. Each day brought him closer toward Dol Guldur and a fate that he knew to be far worse than death. It had been easy to guess who the 'master' of these orcs was, or at least one of their masters. Legolas had been forced to face a Nazgûl before. (1) The circumstances had been completely different then, and he had not been alone, but he still recalled the terror of those short moments.

He dreaded their arrival at the dark tower and the darkness that awaited him there. The Nazgûl would either know who he was or find a way to learn his identity. They would do their best to use both him and his knowledge against his father and his people, and Legolas was neither arrogant nor foolish enough to believe that a Nazgûl would not be able to break him with time.

And the worst was that they would probably succeed in using him as a weapon against his father's kingdom. Legolas was well aware how dear his father held him. To know his son's fate would break Thranduil as surely as Legolas' body and soul would sooner or later be broken by the torture of the Nazgûl. Legolas shivered, unable to do anything against the despair that welled up inside him once more.

To fear what the Nazgûl would do to him was bad enough, but to know that he would also be used to destroy his family, his friends, and his realm was more than he could bear. Suddenly he wished that the orcs would have hurt him much worse, bad enough to keep him in the safe, dreamless darkness of unconsciousness for a long time, or to never wake up at all. The memories of the day of his capture haunted him as much as his fear of the future, and the present provided no comfort.

The first two days he had fought against his bonds and tried everything he could think of to free himself, but to no avail. The orcs kept him bound all the time, and they guarded him closely. Apart from that, they had found ways to ensure that his strength was waning. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, they beat him or found other creative ways to hurt him.

Legolas knew that he owed it only to their fear of their leader and to their leader's fear of the Nazgûl that he was not tortured to death instead. The orcs never allowed him to rest as long as he needed, or to restore his strength after a long day's march or a severe beating. They had allowed him only some sips of stale water and had not given him anything to eat, and when he fell – or one of them caused him to fall – they simply dragged him along until he managed to stagger to his feet again.

Legolas was quite sure that the orcs would start torturing him as soon as they felt safe. They would not damage him too much, not wanting to incur the wrath of their master, but they would have their fun with him. Knowing what fate awaited him at their destination, he did not really fear what they would do to him.

In fact, it had become some kind of hope, the only way of escape that he could still think of. Perhaps the orcs would get carried away, perhaps he could provoke them so much that they killed him, perhaps he could impale himself on a knife they used on him… There was no other way out now. Legolas was startled out of his thoughts when the silence around him was broken by harsh, guttural words and orders were bellowed behind him.

As often as he had heard the black speech in these last days, he would never get used to it. All about it was ugly and felt wrong, and it nearly hurt to listen to it. Slight vibrations in the ground beneath him told him that they were coming for him. He opened his eyes, refusing to give them a reason to 'wake him up' and wanting to at least see the danger, when he could not evade it.

The orcs had withdrawn deeper into the forest to rest and wait for nightfall, shunning the daylight as dim as it might be. For once, Legolas was grateful for the creatures' sensitivity to light. The familiar dark twilight that reigned beneath the interwoven boughs and the canopy of the mighty Mirkwood trees did not hurt his eyes or his slightly throbbing head.

He caught only a glimpse of dark trunks and green leaves above him, then the sight was blotted out by the sneering face of the orc leader towering over him. Legolas did not bother to try and raise his head or move backwards, he was too tired and hurt too much to care about his pride. He simply met the orc's gaze as coldly and defiantly as he could, trying not to show his apprehension. He was not sure he could endure another beating right now.

The orc stared down on him for a long moment. "You do not look too well, elf," he finally said in the common language.

Legolas had to stifle an answer that would have certainly caused him to be punished. He knew it was too dangerous to provoke his captors now. He did not really care for his own fate anymore, though he did not look forward to the pain. But he knew he could not risk his last chance of escape into a merciful death. The orc leader was not stupid, and if he saw through his tactic too early and failed to kill him… Legolas would be doomed to spend the rest of his life in the dungeons of Dol Guldur.

So the elf simply stayed silent, as he had done for the entire time of his captivity, watching the orc. The creature bent lower, and Legolas could not help flinching as clawed fingers buried themselves in his hair and his head was jerked off the ground. For a moment he thought that the orc was going to break his neck, but the orc did not make any further move. He brought his face directly in front of the elf's, his grip preventing his captive from moving away.

Both the proximity of the orc and his touch were disgusting, and Legolas had to force himself not to struggle against the painful grip, knowing that he had no chance of breaking free, bound as he was. He took shallow breaths to avoid gagging on the foul smell of the creature, but he did not try to turn his head away, still meeting his enemy's gaze directly. The orc smiled at him, exposing sharp, crooked yellow teeth.

Legolas knew that the orc leader was as unhappy about the Nazgûl's orders as his underlings were. There was a greedy gleam in the creature's eyes whenever his gaze fell on his captive that spoke of his hunger for the elf's flesh and his pain. Legolas suppressed a shiver, but could not stop his heart from beating faster. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to meet the gaze of the burning yellow eyes only inches from his own unflinchingly.

The orc had found his own, private way to torture the elf and humiliated him whenever he got the chance. So far, he had not succeeded in breaking the elf's pride or his stubborn defiance, and Legolas was determined to keep what was left of his dignity for as long as he could.

"Still so quiet, elf?" the orc hissed. "Good. I do not want to hear your talk, only your screams."

The brief triumph that flared up in the orc's eyes and his widened smile showed Legolas that the slight shudder that went through his body at the orc's words had not gone unnoticed. Still he refused to back down or look away.

"But until then, I can't have you slow us down," the orc continued.

Legolas spotted a movement out of the corner of his eyes and, risking a short glance, he saw that the orc's free hand was reaching for a flask that the elf had seen him carrying around fastened to his belt all the time. He was instantly alarmed. He had been determined to refuse any kind of nourishment from his captors even if they offered it to him, but this promised to be even worse.

Seeing the sudden resistance flare up in the eyes of the captive and his body tense, the orc barked an order. From one moment to the next, Legolas found himself surrounded by orcs. Hands were grasping his shoulders and his legs, holding him down, and the pain of sharp claws piercing his bruised and cut skin made him gasp. For a moment he panicked and began to struggle against the hands on him, but they pinned him down, not allowing him to move away.

He felt the hand of the leader in his hair again, and then his jaws were forced apart, and some liquid poured into his mouth. The taste of the vile potion made him rear up against the hands that held him once more, but his head was caught in an iron-hard grip and claws held his mouth shut before he had a chance to get rid of the burning liquid. Fingers pinched his nose and left him only the choice to swallow or choke. As black spots began to dance in front of his eyes he finally gave in and swallowed reflexively.

The orc leader forced several more sips of the liquid down the elf's throat before he was content. The hands finally let go, and Legolas slumped in exhaustion. The elf felt nauseated, and his stomach cramped. He was shaken by dry heaves, and he wanted nothing more but to rinse his mouth, or retch. But before he could even find the strength to spit out the small part of the potion that still seemed to cling to his mouth, his jaws were forced apart once more and a gag was forced into his mouth the taste and smell of which made his stomach heave again.

The gag was secured with a strip that the orcs tore out of his own tunic. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths until his stomach had calmed so far that the danger of retching and choking had passed. He knew that the orcs used these vile potions both to strengthen themselves after injuries, and sometimes to replace food and drink while travelling. The potion could be used to strengthen elvish prisoners as well, but elves usually preferred to die rather than drank the potion out of their own free will.

Legolas had never tasted the potion before and did not wish to ever do so again. There was something in it that darkened his spirit, and the liquid seemed to burn him from inside. The orcs had taken all choice and control from him, and seldom before had he felt so helpless or vulnerable. He should have known that they would gag him – they always did after a beating.

They did not want to miss any sound of pain he made, but they did not want him to be able to alert a patrol or anything else when they were not having their fun with him. His heart was still beating wildly, and he closed his eyes and tried to further calm his breathing. Slowly, the burning inside of him lessened, but he seemed to feel both his aching body and the cold beneath him more intensely than before.

Once again, hands were on him, lifting him. He did not open his eyes, still feeling nauseated and not wanting to see the world turn around him. Again the claws added bloody marks and new bruises to his skin. The orcs carried him a short distance, then he was simply dropped. Legolas groaned as his already badly bruised body hit the ground hard, but the gag swallowed the sound.

He opened his eyes again, just as a new pair of hands gripped his shoulders, dragged him into an upright position, and shoved him backwards against something hard. His head collided painfully with the hard surface and, for a moment, he blacked out. When he came around again he felt someone cut the ropes on his hands, not caring that the blade cut into the surrounding skin quite often or that the rope had cut deeply into the elf's bloodied wrists.

Legolas had lost all feeling in his tightly bound hands hours ago, and as the pain hit him he almost wished it had stayed that way. At least it made him aware enough to realize what was happening to him. As always when the orcs wanted to rest, they bound their captive against a tree. He felt the rough bark pressing against his back, and a moment later his arms were bent back and bound together again.

More ropes were wrapped around his torso, securing him against the tree, and his legs were bound to stakes that were driven into the ground. He was too exhausted to even wince anymore, though his wrists felt as if they were on fire and the ropes were painfully tight, aggravating the cuts and bruises on his body and seeming to cut deeper with every breath he took. Finally, the orcs were done and left him alone, but not before they had delivered some well-placed, but half-hearted kicks against his ribs and legs.

Having expected this treatment, Legolas did not react to it. When the orcs had left, he allowed his still-tense body to slowly relax against the bonds. He let his head sink back against the tree trunk, and looked up to the dark boughs and the canopy overhead, trying to distract himself from the pain that the bonds caused him, and his still-cramping stomach. Not a glimpse of sky could be seen. The orcs had chosen an especially dark part of the forest to hide in and now that Legolas had some time and quiet to listen and feel he noticed that this place was not only dark on the outside.

The voices of the trees had either fallen silent, or they had been turned into malicious whispers. When he listened more intently, he realized that the tree he had been bound to was one of those that were poisoned by shadow. There would be no strength or comfort to be gained from it, only dark whispers and emptiness. He shivered and lowered his head, feeling defeated and lost. Hopelessness and despair enveloped him like a dark, heavy blanket, weighing him down, threatening to crush all beneath them that he had once been. Never before in his life had he felt so alone.

Finally, exhaustion won over despair, and though there was a silent warning inside of him that told him not to give in to sleep, he simply could not help it. Both his spirit and his body had been pushed to the brink of what they could bear for much too long now. His chin sank against his chest and he drifted into welcome oblivion, leaving the darkness and the pain behind, if only for a little while.

_To be continued…_

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Footnotes:

(1) "Legolas had been forced to face a Nazgûl before" refers to a previous story of mine, "Stronger than Darkness".

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_I definitely hope you enjoyed this chapter more than Legolas did. (evil grin)_

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	2. A Glimpse of Hope

_**A/N:**__ Thank you for all your reviews, they are very much appreciated!:-) This chapter should answer at least part of your questions. Feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome._

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One._

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**Chapter Two: A Glimpse of Hope**

_"May you always remember  
when the shadows fall —  
You do not walk alone."_  
Irish Proverb

Legolas jerked out of his sleep to the feeling of choking. When his eyes flew open, he stared into a distorted, scarred face that seemed to stem directly from a nightmare. Gnarled fingers were around his throat, slowly squeezing off his air supply, making him struggle for each breath. Between the gag and the squeezing fingers it was impossible to get the breath he needed. For a disoriented moment, panic hit him again, but the adrenaline quickly cleared the last remnants of sleepiness from his mind and he realized where he was and what was happening to him.

He forced himself to hold perfectly still, and stare into the face before him while he fought painfully for each breath. The orc had clearly enjoyed the flicker of panic he saw in the elf's eyes and was obviously disappointed that the captive did not squirm or struggle or at least lower his eyes in fear. He used his grip on the elf's throat to shove his head back against the tree, just hard enough to cause pain without knocking him out.

Legolas' already injured head began to throb painfully once more, but he made no sound. He had come to know this especially ugly orc quite well during the time of his captivity. He seemed to be something like a second-in-command, and Legolas had soon realized that he hated the leader and challenged his authority wherever he could. The elf was quite sure that only one of the two orcs would survive their journey south in the end, but in the meantime the only way for this orc to vent his frustrations was to turn on the captive.

He never injured his victim in a way that could impede their progress, but he did his very best to elicit sounds of pain from the elf or make him cower in fear. So far, he had not had any success. Still, the orc kept trying. He made sure that he was at the elf's side when they were moving during the night, causing Legolas to trip repeatedly, and he found ways to be alone with the captive for short intervals both during the days and the nights.

Legolas had come to hate this orc thoroughly by now, but the creature was also part of his plans. This orc would be easier to provoke than the orc-leader and would perhaps kill him in a moment of rage given the right motivation. Once more the elf's head was shoved back into the tree, and his lungs were burning for air by now. He did his best to keep his gaze on the orc, but his sight had become blurry.

"You were not allowed to sleep, elf," the orc snarled into his face and then, suddenly, the fingers were gone from his throat.

Legolas did his best to greedily suck air into his lungs, not caring that the movement made the ropes press even tighter against his upper body, chafing his skin. Before he had had a chance to recover, he heard the sound of a weapon being unsheathed and then a knife was pressed against his throat. It stung as the blade broke through his skin, and he felt something warm trickle down his neck, knowing it to be his own blood.

"If you don't obey I'll have to punish you," the orc whispered and let one of his claws run slowly over the elf's bruised cheek, leaving a bloody red line in its wake.

Legolas' breath caught, and he wished nothing more than to be able to move away from that touch. He knew as well as the orc did that he was in no state any longer to obey any command not to rest. He was aware by now that falling asleep was dangerous, but he simply could not help it. It was one of the orcs' games to find new cruel ways to wake him and keep him awake. They did not want him to regain any of his strength.

Legolas tried not to listen to the orc's words and the dark promise in them, refusing to show more of his fear and weakness in front of his enemy than he already did. Though he held no hope any longer, his defiance was far from broken. He glared back at the orc, mustering all the pride and the stubbornness of a son of Thranduil. The orc cursed, and then Legolas felt hard knuckles connect with his face as he was viciously backhanded. For a moment, he nearly blacked out again, but the pain lessened slowly and his sight cleared again.

He tasted blood in his mouth, and his head ached, but he could not help smiling. As small as the victory might be, it was his. The orc was gone.

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Though this must had been the worst way to be woken that Legolas could think of, the orc's brutality had at least freed him from the nightmares. They were the second reason why he preferred unconsciousness over sleep now. He could not control his dreams any longer, and what he suppressed during his waking moments came back to haunt him while he slept. In his dreams, he re-lived the day of his capture over and over again.

He had not been alone on that day. _Aragorn_. Legolas closed his eyes, trying not to feel the pain that this simple name evoked. He could still remember how joyfully the day had begun. As soon as winter had finally given way to spring Aragorn had come over the mountains for a visit, and Legolas had ridden out to meet his friend at the Forest Gate. They had made camp there that night, planning to ride on towards the Halls of the Elven King the next day.

But during the night, all had changed forever. The orcs had found them, and the friends had been completely unprepared for an attack. Legolas still did not know how they had been able to sneak up on them without him or the trees realizing their presence before it was almost too late, but he was beginning to believe that they had somehow enlisted the help of those trees which had been touched and shadowed by the darkness spreading from the south. The elf had noticed in his captors the uncanny ability to detect and stay close to the poisoned parts of the forest, though he could not tell whether they were simply led by their instincts or somehow guided by their master from afar.

He still remembered all too well being startled from his elven dreams by the urgent warnings of the trees during Aragorn's watch right in the middle of the night, and the surprise and the alarm in his friend's eyes when he saw the elf jumping to his feet in one fluid motion and grabbing his weapons, calling one single word of warning: "Yrch!" ((Orcs!))

In spite of being caught completely unawares, they had fought back vehemently and killed many of the fell beasts, but the number of the attackers had been too great. Having had enough time to count his enemies over the last two days, Legolas knew now that they had been up against almost four dozen orcs that night. The creatures had managed to separate Aragorn and Legolas from each other, and Legolas had soon realized that they wanted to take him alive.

Most of the orcs had concentrated on the elf, but Legolas had managed to fight them off and hold his ground until an arrow struck his left forearm. Weakened and only able to use one of his hunting knives for his defence, Legolas soon found himself cornered and hard-pressed to keep his enemies at bay. Aragorn had tried to reach him with all his might, but both of them were greatly outnumbered and wounded now, and he did not get very far.

Legolas still heard Aragorn's angry cry and saw desperate grey eyes meet his over the heads of the orcs that surrounded them like a dark flood. It had been the last time their eyes met. Only moments later, when Legolas' head jerked up after hearing a choked cry from his friend, he saw Aragorn go down and the orcs move in on his fallen companion. Legolas had cried his friend's name and tried to break through the lines of orcs that surrounded him, but there had been too many of them and he was weakening.

Disbelief and despair had warred inside of his heart, and in his grief and distraction the orcs had finally been able to bring him down. The last thing he remembered was a stinging pain that exploded in his head, before he awoke in the orcs' camp the next day and the nightmare began.

He was not sure any longer what he had come to fear more: the constant pain and humiliation of his waking moments, or his dreams, when he would see Aragorn fall over and over again, unable to reach him, unable to help. Whenever he remembered those moments, the grief broke over him and threatened to drown him. Sometimes he wondered if it would not be easier to give in, to allow the grief to take his heart and eat away on his soul until his spirit would falter and fade.

But he could not. He had not seen Aragorn dead, and there was a tiny little spark of hope inside of him that refused to be extinguished – hope not for himself, but for his friend. Perhaps Aragorn still lived, perhaps he was only wounded, and if he was, then someone might still be able to find him in time. The thought of Aragorn's death was even more unbearable to Legolas than his own fate, and his nightmares left him more shaken than the torment through the orcs.

So he fought to stay awake in spite of his exhaustion, not out of obedience, knowing full well that the orcs would do as they pleased anyway, but to stay in control of his memories and thoughts. For the moment he wanted nothing more than to forget and tell himself that Aragorn was still safely in Rivendell, far away from the darkness of this place, alive and well.

But try as he might, Legolas could not deceive himself. His best friend was lost to him, whether he was wounded or dead, and he would betray his father and his people if he could not find a way to die before they reached their destination. Despair threatened to descend on him once again, and he could feel the tree thrive on his pain. The tree's malice surrounded him and shrouded him in darkness, and suddenly his bonds seemed to tighten around him, threatening to choke him.

Legolas forced himself to ignore the sensation and breathe, knowing that the tree could neither move nor act and only tried to poison him with its dark, twisted thoughts. He pressed back against the tree trunk unconsciously, trying to ease the pain both the bonds and his injuries caused him, but found immediately that being closer to the tree seemed to increase its influence on him, heightening the torment of his soul. The elf shifted restlessly for some moments, but between the bonds and the tree there was no escape from the pain. Finally he gave up and looked out into the forest, not wanting to see the orcs that were resting fitfully not far away from him, and trying to distract himself from the cruel whisperings of the tree.

In the silence he could still hear the sounds of the wind and the soft pattering of the spring rain on the green canopy above. From time to time, the wind would shake the leaves enough to let some of the water drop down on him, soaking his torn tunic and wetting his face.

----------

Some time later Legolas was jerked awake by a touch on his shoulder, and he cursed himself for not being able to avoid falling asleep once more. He flinched away from the touch involuntarily, trying to move away from the pain he knew would follow. The pain from the sudden movement nearly made him groan, and his neck hurt from the position he had rested in. The fresh cut on his throat still stung and he knew it had probably just re-opened.

He looked up, but there was nothing to be seen. Sudden apprehension filled him as he realized that whoever had touched him was behind him. It was bad enough to know he would be punished, but it was even worse not to see what was coming. His body tensed. Again he felt a touch on his shoulder, and he could not help flinching violently. He tried to turn his head, but fingers pressed against his chin, preventing the movement. Legolas shivered, waiting for the fingers to go for his throat next or to have his head shoved against the tree again.

But the fingers were withdrawn as quickly as they had come. "Shhh," a quiet voice said. "Do not move. It is me."

Legolas froze. Though the voice was no more than a whisper, he recognized it instantly. It was impossible. He let his head roll back against the tree, wondering what was happening to him. It must be the potion. Perhaps there was a light poison in it, enough to cause hallucinations in a weary mind. Or had the orcs somehow found a new, cruel trick to play on him? Suddenly he felt an overwhelming tiredness. He did not want this – it was simply too much.

He felt someone shift behind him, and a hand lightly brushed his shoulder again. He felt a light tug on the piece of cloth that held his gag in place and instantly tensed again. "I am going to remove this… thing," the voice whispered, perhaps sensing his apprehension.

Legolas tried not to listen, but found himself listening intently instead. How could this be? The voice, the underlying emotion… it was disturbingly _real_. Fingers moved to untie the knots at the back of his head, gently untangling strands of his hair that had been caught in the knots. Legolas held his breath. If this vision did not vanish soon he felt he would shatter to pieces. He could not bear this on top of everything else.

"If one of them awakes and happens to look this way I do not want him to see me," the voice explained, and then the last knot was undone.

Legolas felt the pressure vanish from his jaws, and the strip of cloth was taken away. He hesitated for a moment, but then he turned his head and spit the gag out. To be rid of that vile taste felt unbelievably good. He moved his jaw a bit, knowing that there was a new bruise forming where the orc had hit him. He breathed in as deeply as he could, tied as he was.

The presence behind him shifted again, moving closer. "I am going to cut the ropes now. It will take some time, as I do not want to hurt you," the voice whispered into his ear. "Just be patient for a while longer, mellon-nîn."

Legolas could feel a hint of warm breath on his skin, and once again a hand was put on his shoulder, not squeezing, but simply lying there as if the presence behind him knew that he was hurting. He felt tears sting in his eyes, and he knew he could not break down now. This could not be real. It was some cruel mockery, and nothing more. "Don't…" he wanted to say, but no sound left his parched throat.

He listened with his entire being to each sound behind him, and he was not disappointed. The voice continued speaking and explaining what was done behind him. Legolas felt his body relax and his heart lighten with each word and each touch, even if it hurt. _This can not be real_, he repeated in his head over and over again, but his heart did not believe him.

"I will cut the ropes on your wrists first. I fear this will hurt. Please do not move now."

Legolas heard barely suppressed anger in the familiar voice and knew the blood on the ropes that bound his wrists had been seen. He had nearly no feeling in his swollen fingers anyway, but he felt a warm hand take both of his and hold them, while another hand started cutting slowly and carefully through the tightly wound ropes. Legolas just sat there and allowed it to happen, not sure what to believe anymore.

Then the ropes loosened and his wrists were free. Blood began to flow back into his stiff fingers, and the chafed skin burnt and stung. Hundreds of needles seemed to pierce his hands simultaneously, and he hissed softly. Fingers began to massage his hands gently for a moment, trying to stimulate the blood-flow and lessen the pain. Legolas shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake something off. It could not be. It could not be the one he believed it to be.

But if this was an illusion, he must have lost his mind already. Perhaps he had. He was no longer sure if he was dreaming or waking. Perhaps he was poisoned or burning in fever, unable to control the illusions of his mind. He knew that he needed to know, though he feared the answer more than anything else. He needed three tries before he was finally able to speak.

"Estel?" he asked, and he was nearly unable to recognize his own voice. He had not spoken and had barely had anything to drink for three days, and his voice was unnaturally rough and hoarse. It hurt to speak, and there was nothing melodious about it. "Are you… a dream?"

The hands that still held his own suddenly stopped moving, and then they were gone. For a moment there was only silence, and Legolas began to wonder whether he had finally woken up and the strange happenings of the last minutes and the voice and touch of his friend had finally faded into nothingness, leaving him behind. The thought hurt more than he had imagined it would, and he cursed the spark of hope that had taken hold of his heart.

It had to be some new trick of the orcs after all. They were probably watching him right now, enjoying his confusion and looking forward to crushing all of his hopes and his will once and for all. Perhaps this was the way they started their torture. He did not know how he could bear their treatment after this moment of kindness, however unreal it might have been. He bowed his head, feeling defeated. That was when he heard movement behind him once again.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Well, he's either almost free or suffering from delusions – I think either way is preferable to the ending of the first chapter. (g)_


	3. Reunion

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you for all the reviews, I love hearing your thoughts about my story (even if they include threats to the author, lol)! You'll see in a moment whether Aragorn was real or not. This chapter is going to be long, so you might want to fetch some popcorn or ice-cream before reading. ;-) Feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome, as always._

_I hope you silent readers out there are enjoying the story, too!_

_I have to warn you that my Real Life will be very busy from next week on, so I may not always be able to update weekly. I'll do my best to continue posting regularly, but it may not always be possible._

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Reunion**

_"Real friendship is the sharing of all that the heart holds inside,  
its tears and laughter, its joy and broken dreams."_  
(Anonymous)

"Legolas?"

Try as he might, he could not ignore the gentle concern in that voice. He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. A familiar figure was kneeling at his side, eyes fixed on his face. The man looked as real as his voice and hands had been and he would recognize that posture, that face, and those eyes anywhere and in any situation. Legolas blinked, but what he saw did not change. Perhaps hearing the fear and flickering hope in his friend's voice Aragorn had taken the risk of moving into plain sight.

Legolas could do nothing but stare at the vision in front of him for a long moment. The stormy-grey eyes that met his own were filled with deep emotions and concern, and he could see lines of worry and exhaustion in the achingly familiar face. The dark locks were tousled as usual and the human's tunic still showed signs of the fight three days ago. His boots and cloak were caked with mud. All of a sudden, Legolas felt dizzy. He could not deny the reality of that sight without losing his mind completely.

Aragorn seemed to see the lingering doubt in the elf's eyes. He leaned forward slightly and put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "I am no dream," he said firmly, holding the elf's gaze. "I swear to you, I am real, and I will get you out of here now."

Legolas closed his eyes and listened, drawing a deep, shaking breath. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up again. Suddenly he knew that Aragorn would not lie to him or make promises lightly, not even in a dream.

He leaned forward as much as the tight bonds allowed, and the ranger moved a little bit closer, anticipating his friend's intention. Their foreheads touched.

"But… I saw you fall," the elf whispered, unable to keep the pain and the desperation he had felt for so long out of his voice.

The man moved one of his hands to the back of the elf's neck, doing his best to convey warmth and support through his touch. He could feel the tense muscles relax slightly under his fingers. "I was only knocked out," he answered softly. "They simply left me there. I do not know whether they thought me dead or did not care. I am sorry. I wish I could have come sooner."

Legolas leaned back, wanting to see the man's eyes. "You are here now," he said, both in answer to his own question and to the man's apology. There was still wonder in his face, but the disbelief and the confusion were slowly fading. Suddenly remembering the situation they were in, the elf's features hardened slightly and his eyes turned serious. "Estel, you should take cover now. This is too dangerous."

Aragorn looked into the elf's eyes inquiringly for a moment, reading deep relief, a hint of joy, and sudden worry in them, then he nodded and moved back behind the tree. Legolas looked over to where the orcs rested on the ground, but none of the creatures had stirred. All doubt had finally left him, and relief and a budding hope had taken the place of despair. Aragorn was alive and he was about to free him. The elf was still too stunned to really feel and understand what was happening, but for the first time in days he did not feel weighed down by overwhelming darkness. Suddenly all he wanted was to get away from here as soon as possible.

"I will cut the ropes now," Aragorn announced softly behind him and nearly at the same moment Legolas could feel the first of the tight ropes give way. He breathed a sigh of relief. The rest of the bonds followed quickly and Legolas could see that the rope had left bloody abrasions everywhere where the tunic was so torn that the rope had pressed into skin instead of fabric. He took a first deep, unhindered breath and sat up straighter.

In a moment, Aragorn was in front of him, cutting away on the ropes that bound his feet to the stakes in the ground. Seconds later, they fell. Their eyes met for a moment, and the ranger smiled. Legolas cast a short glance at the orcs again, but nothing had changed. Aragorn knelt down at his side.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes roaming over the elf's body and trying to gauge what they saw.

"They have not wounded me severely," Legolas answered, trying to calm his friend. "I will be able to walk."

There was doubt in Aragorn's eyes as he studied his friend's face once more. Before Legolas had even a chance to try and move, the man leant forward and wrapped an arm firmly around his waist.

"Lean on me," Aragorn ordered quietly. "This is not the time for any stubborn Elvish pride."

Legolas looked at him, but he did not protest. He still felt weak and dizzy, and he knew that each movement would cause him pain. Actually, he was glad for Aragorn's supporting arm, though he did not plan to say so. Instead, he simply nodded and allowed the man to slowly help him to his feet. Legolas swayed and would have fallen to his knees again if Aragorn had not tightened his hold, keeping the elf upright until he had regained his balance.

Legolas looked back at the orcs once more. This was the first time in three days that he was not simply dragged to his feet and beaten until he moved. Suddenly he realized that he was free, after he had already given up all hope of surviving, though he knew he could not allow himself to truly feel what that meant just yet.

He stared at the unmoving shapes of his enemies for some moments, conflicting emotions burning in his eyes. He knew he must never fall into the hands of those creatures again. For a moment he wished nothing more than to go there and kill them in their sleep, but he knew the orcs were simply too many. It would only result in both of them being captured. He shuddered and turned away.

"Let us go," Aragorn nudged gently. "When they wake we need to be as far away from here as possible."

Once again, Legolas only nodded, too caught up in his memories and emotions to find any words to say. He allowed Aragorn to slowly lead him away, and soon the camp of the orcs and the dark trees fell behind and vanished out of their sight.

----------

They walked for a long time and as fast as Legolas was able to, but finally the elf began to stumble more and more often, wincing each time and ducking his head because he unconsciously expected to be beaten for slowing his captors' progress. Aragorn never said a word, he just held on to the elf tightly and prevented him from falling. Legolas seemed to slowly adapt to the new situation and his body relaxed against his friend, but it was still obvious that his strength would not last for long.

Luckily, the ranger had not expected to find his friend in a better condition and had done his best to prepare a safe hiding-place for both of them, which he would even have been able to reach if he had to carry the elf the entire way. As it was, most of the elf's weight rested against the human when they reached their destination. Aragorn gave his friend a moment to recover and take in their surroundings.

"It is not far now," he told the elf then, "but we will have to climb."

Legolas followed his gaze and smiled. It was a weak smile, but welcome nonetheless. "You have learned well, human," he said warmly.

"I had a good teacher," Aragorn returned, smiling back at his friend.

They stood in front of a mighty, gnarled oak, slightly bigger and older than the other trees around her. High up between the sturdy branches the elf's sharp eyes had spotted a wooden platform that had been placed into a fork of the tree and carefully constructed out of interwoven branches and camouflaged by leaves. It was the kind of flet (1) the wood-elves used when they were on patrol and needed a safe place for the night or a place with a good view to watch their surroundings.

Building a flet had been one of the first things Legolas had taught Aragorn when he showed him how to survive in Mirkwood. Now this special flet would serve as a resting place, where they would be undisturbed from prying eyes and hopefully safe from pursuit, at least for the moment.

----------

Aragorn was quite sure that this was probably the first time in the history of the wood-elves that one of them needed the help of a human to climb a tree. He was not really sure whether Legolas would have been able to climb on his own, but the way the elf looked Aragorn was not willing to let him even try and again Legolas did not protest his help.

When they finally arrived at the improvised platform, Legolas' knees buckled and he simply dropped down where he was, content with not having to move and listening to the welcoming, soothing voice of the old tree. Aragorn went past him without disturbing him and grabbed the bag that lay next to the tree trunk. The ranger had used it to stow away everything from both their packs that he thought they would probably need.

When he walked back to Legolas and sat down beside him he carried a water flask and some waybread. Legolas looked at both and then back at Aragorn. "Is it that obvious?" he asked with the hint of a smile.

Aragorn nodded. Knowing Legolas the way he did it would have been just as impossible to miss the elf's weakness as the pain he was in, and his friend was not even trying very hard to hide either. "You look half-starved, and even apart from that I know how orcs try to break the will of their captives."

The ranger tried to keep his voice carefully neutral, but Legolas heard the hidden anger nonetheless. The elf turned his head away, struggling with the sudden pain of dark memories and not wanting his friend to see it.

He heard the human sigh. "I am sorry," Aragorn said softly. "I did not want to remind you."

Legolas shook his head, still refusing to look at him. "It is not your fault," he answered simply.

Aragorn held the water flask out towards his friend. Legolas hesitated for a moment and then he took it. He was dying of thirst, but the flask reminded him too much of the vile potion that had been forced into him some time ago. He could still taste it in his mouth and feel it burn inside of him, he could still remember hands pinning him to the ground and forcing his jaws open… He shoved the memories forcefully aside. There was no orc potion in this flask, and the only one who was with him now was his best friend.

He raised the flask to his lips and took a first, tentative sip. The cool, clear water felt wonderful to his parched throat and soon he had to force himself to take small sips instead of big gulps. At first it hurt to swallow, but the pain soon lessened as his throat adapted to the liquid once more. To his relief, the water seemed to wash the foul aftertaste of the orcs' potion away and he hoped that it would also soothe his still-hurting stomach. Finally he felt one of Aragorn's hands press down lightly on his own that still held the flask to his lips, and he reluctantly put the flask down.

"Slowly," Aragorn admonished him gently.

Legolas sighed, but obeyed. The last thing he needed now were more stomach cramps. He took a piece of waybread that Aragorn handed him, broke a small chunk out of it and slowly began to chew it. His stomach had felt like a tense lump since he had swallowed the potion and he was not sure if he would be able to eat anything at all. After eating the first chunk he waited a while, but there was no pain or nausea. In fact, he suddenly felt hungry. He ate two pieces of waybread and drank the rest of the water. Afterwards he felt sated, tired, and much better.

He settled down a bit more comfortably, and leaned against the tree trunk. Aragorn watched him quietly. He studied the elf's pale face, the dark bruises that covered nearly one entire side of it and the bloody cut that ran right through the worst of the bruises. There was dried blood in his friend's hair and in one corner of his mouth, and a smaller cut crossed his forehead and ended right over one eyebrow.

Looking lower, the human discovered the fresh-looking cut on the elf's throat and abrasions around his neck that looked very much as if his friend had been dragged by a sling around his neck when the orcs were moving during the nights. Legolas' tunic was torn and bloodied in many places, probably hiding numerous injuries, and his wrists were raw. Fibres of the ropes still clung to the dried blood. Aragorn lowered his gaze, staring unseeingly at the wooden platform in front of his knees.

It was easy to see that the last three days and nights must have been torment for Legolas. He had obviously been starved, mistreated, and probably tortured and harassed in many ways, and yet Aragorn could only see the wounds to his body. He could only guess how much damage had been done to the elf's soul and spirit. His friend's eyes were haunted and shadowed and he had not missed how Legolas reacted to unexpected touches or sounds, or how he had tensed each time he had stumbled, as if expecting a blow to come down on him every moment.

"I am sorry," he said softly.

"What for?" Legolas asked, and Aragorn could feel the elf's eyes on him. He raised his head and met his friend's gaze.

"For not being able to come sooner," Aragorn answered, knowing quite well that he was repeating himself but not being able to help it. "When I finally regained consciousness I had already lost hours. After I had searched the battlefield and realized they had taken you with them…"

The man trailed off and closed his eyes, remembering only too well the terrible fear that had overtaken him once he had realized what had happened to his friend. It had almost driven him crazy to know that Legolas was likely suffering and had been for some time, or even being tortured, without him being able to do anything about it. What had hurt even more was that Legolas could not know that he was still alive, and would likely believe himself to be completely alone, without any hope of being rescued.

The only thing he had been able to do was to pray for Legolas to hold on while he tried to gain on the orcs that had captured his friend. He had never been so afraid that he might be too late. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again, not bothering to try and put his thoughts into words – Legolas would know them all after one look into his eyes.

"I could not follow their traces at night," Aragorn continued, "so I could only try to close the distance between us during daytime." Each day he had cursed the sun for going down and himself for not being able to move faster, knowing that Legolas' condition would very likely worsen with each passing hour, minimizing his chances to free his friend in time.

"When I finally found their camp and saw you I feared the worst." Aragorn studied his friend silently, reliving the fears and emotions of that moment not too long ago. He had watched Legolas closely until he finally saw him shift in his sleep and noticed the gentle falling and rising of his chest, proving to him that his friend was worn-out, injured, and exhausted, but still alive. Leaving the friend he had just found again behind to go and prepare the flet had been one of the most difficult things Aragorn had had to do in his life.

"I hate to tell you, but you look terrible, mellon-nîn."

During his words, the elf had not been able to hold his gaze. He seemed to be staring at the hands that were resting in his lap, or perhaps at his wrists. The last sentence made him smile as Aragorn knew it would, but it was a strained smile. "I know," Legolas simply said, not even trying to be offended or deny the words.

He looked up, and Aragorn was taken aback by the intensity of the swirling emotions in his friend's eyes. "You came," the elf said, "and you came in time. You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me from a fate that would have been worse than death."

He averted his eyes again, and then he rose slowly and stepped to the edge of the platform. Aragorn rose, too, but he stayed where he was, watching his friend. He had to fight the urge to grab Legolas and drag him back to the middle of the platform, or simply step to his side to make sure that the elf did not stumble or fall. Instead he remained motionless and quiet, feeling that Legolas needed to be alone with his thoughts and emotions for a moment.

The elf only stood there, staring at the ocean of green leaves around and below them and up at the occasional glimpses of grey, clouded sky above as if he had never seen anything as fascinating or beautiful before. Then, slowly, he turned, and Aragorn saw that there were tears in his eyes.

"Hannon le," he said, and his voice was vibrating with emotions. "Thank you for coming for me, and for coming at the right time. I…" He took a deep, steadying breath. "The orcs had been ordered to go north, capture an elf, and bring him back with them." He saw Aragorn's eyes widen in sudden horror and knew that the man understood. "They would have brought me to Dol Guldur. The orcs did not know who I was, but _they_ would have known. _They_ would have used me against my father and my people…"

Legolas' voice broke, and he began to shiver, as all the horror and the fear of those last days came down on him. Suddenly, his knees gave way, and he would have fallen if Aragorn had not jumped forward and caught him by his shoulders, lowering him gently to the ground. They knelt in front of each other, Aragorn's hands still holding Legolas' shoulders, perhaps holding the elf upright as well.

Seeking his friend's gaze, Legolas went on, "There was no way out. I thought you were dead… I did not know what was worse, knowing what would happen to me or that I had lost you…"

There was so much despair and grief in Legolas' eyes that it made Aragorn's heart clench painfully in his chest. There were single traces of tears on the elf's face now, and Aragorn knew that his friend was close to breaking down. Without a single word he put his arms around his friend, and Legolas collapsed against him, burying his head in Aragorn's shoulder.

For a long time they stayed like that, Aragorn simply holding the shaking elf, knowing that his friend needed to release both the grief and the horror of those last days, of what he had believed to be true and what might have happened. He felt deeply grateful that Legolas trusted him enough to be able to let go like this in spite of his pride. What his friend had told him of the orcs' plans had shaken Aragorn deeply. He could only begin to imagine what kind of weight Legolas had had to carry over these last three days.

He could not even bear to think about what Legolas' fate might have been if he had come too late. Unconsciously, he held his friend even closer, as if trying to protect him from an invisible foe. Finally, gradually, Legolas began to calm down, and the shaking lessened and subsided. For several long moments Legolas remained leaning against his friend, spent and exhausted. Then he slowly raised his head and straightened. Aragorn kept his hands on the elf's shoulders until he was sure that Legolas would remain upright, then he withdrew them.

Legolas smiled at him weakly, and Aragorn saw gratefulness in his eyes. "I planned to provoke the orcs into killing me," the elf said softly, his voice shaking slightly, though his body was calm now, "but I was not sure if it would work."

The mental image of Legolas being tortured to death by the orcs because he was trying to save his father and his people and himself from a worse fate was nearly more than Aragorn could bear. "I cannot describe how glad I am that we will never find out," he answered quietly.

"We still need to escape the orcs," Legolas reminded him. "We cannot stay here. They will not stop hunting me."

Aragorn put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We have to stay for a while. You need rest. They will not find us here. We will stay here during the night and then go on. I hope they will continue to rest during daytime."

Legolas nodded slowly, and Aragorn studied him for a long moment. He could see that part of the darkness in his friend's eyes had faded, but some shadows still lingered where there should be none. He wished nothing more than to see them gone forever, and to see Legolas free again. "Talk to me," he asked quietly.

Legolas looked at him, a silent question in his eyes.

"Tell me what happened to you over these last days. You have told me what their plans for you were and why, but not what they already did to you. I could not come sooner, but perhaps I can help you now. Do not try to carry this alone."

Legolas was looking down into his lap once more, trying to evade his friend's gaze, but Aragorn put gentle fingers under his chin, forcing his friend to face him. "Allow me to treat your wounds," he said gently. "And talk to me. Let me help."

"There is not much to be treated," Legolas answered after a short moment of hesitation, unable to turn his friend away, but also unwilling to face memories he only wanted to forget. "I do not have any injuries but cuts and bruises."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as they alighted on something he had not noticed before. He caught Legolas' left hand in his, taking care not to touch the chafed wrist, and looked closely at a bloody, dirty bandage on his friend's forearm. Before Legolas could even protest he had already untied the makeshift bandage and was staring at something that looked like a deep, painful-looking arrow wound.

Obviously the arrow had been pulled out carelessly, and then a scrap of fabric had been wrapped around the wound to stop the bleeding. Aragorn knew without asking that this was the kind of treatment orcs would give to a prisoner when they needed him to stay alive. Had Legolas been a human, he would undoubtedly be suffering from infection and burning up with fever by now.

"Does this qualify as a cut or a bruise?" he asked, his voice rough.

Legolas sighed. "Neither," he conceded. "It is an arrow wound – the only one."

Aragorn did not answer.

"I will allow you to treat my wounds," the elf finally said softly. "And… I will tell you what you want to know."

Breathing a hidden sigh of relief, Aragorn grabbed the bag once more and took his healing supplies out of it. He had already prepared everything that he knew he might need before he left to free his friend from the orcs' camp. He also took a spare set of clothing he had taken from the elf's pack out of the bag and put it next to the healing supplies.

Legolas wordlessly allowed him to cut the torn, dirty remains of his tunic off of him, and Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat when he finally saw what had been hidden under the fabric before. Legolas' entire body was covered with dark, painful-looking bruises, cuts, abrasions from various ropes, and single long red lines that seemed to be whip marks. Especially on his shoulders and arms were also numerous smaller wounds where the claws of orcs had pierced his skin.

Aragorn grit his teeth in an effort to suppress his seething anger at this sight and started to gently clean the wounds on his friend's forearm and wrists, which seemed to be the worst ones. True to his word, Legolas began to talk after some time had passed, telling his friend everything that had happened to him, or at least most of it. He rarely met Aragorn's eyes, and often he fell silent for a while or broke off in the midst of a sentence. Aragorn understood. He did not prod, or say anything at all. He simply listened.

When he was nearly done caring for his friend's wounds and Legolas had told him all he had to say about his captivity, Aragorn was in a mood to leave immediately and kill each and every single one of those orcs. Treating the wounds while he heard about their cause and saw the painful memories in Legolas' eyes had turned his righteous anger into something much more personal and dangerous.

While Legolas used the rest of their water to clean himself from the orcs' filth, Aragorn fought to calm down again and suppress his anger, shock, and the renewed, nagging feeling of guilt. He had wanted to know, and Legolas did not need to have to deal with his friend's emotions on top of his own. At least he was grateful to see that Legolas seemed to be much more himself now.

The elf was on the brink of complete exhaustion, but sharing at least part of his memories seemed to have lightened the burden he still carried, and his eyes were less haunted. Aragorn knew that the elf would still need a lot of time to recover from his captivity, but he hoped it would help that Legolas had not kept the dark memories bottled up inside of him.

Finally, the elf had changed into his spare clothes and sat down beside Aragorn again, his hair still damp. There had not been enough water for Legolas to really wash himself and his hair, but he still looked much better than before. Aragorn could not help but smile as he looked at his bleary-eyed friend. "Why don't you lie down and get some sleep?" he asked gently.

There was hesitation in Legolas' eyes, and suddenly Aragorn understood. Legolas had told him of both the nightmares and the orcs' methods of waking him, and Aragorn realized that there were a lot of good reasons why Legolas might fear falling asleep by now. "I do not think the nightmares will come back," he tried to reassure his friend. "I am here and I am alive, and there are no orcs who could harm you."

"I know that," Legolas replied, but there was still doubt in his eyes.

Aragorn smiled at him sympathetically. He knew that knowing and feeling were two entirely different things. "I will wake you when there are any nightmares," he promised gently.

Finally, Legolas nodded.

Seeing how deadly tired his friend was, Aragorn rose to get the blankets, but he moved too quickly and could not suppress a sudden wince. Before he had taken a single step, a firm hand had taken hold of his wrist and held him back.

"Estel?" a concerned voice asked. "You did not tell me that you are hurt."

"It is nothing," Aragorn said without turning to face his friend. "Only a scratch from the fight."

The next moment Legolas stood in front of him, blocking his way. He still looked tired, but also determined, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Show me that scratch. Now."

Aragorn sighed. He knew there was no arguing with his friend when he gave an order, and Legolas was too tired and worn out to allow any arguments now. He allowed the elf to pull him back down into a sitting position, hissing when Legolas accidentally touched the wound. The elf's determination had changed into open concern by now. Aragorn opened his tunic and Legolas pushed it aside to get a look at the wound. He gently untied the bandage that Aragorn had hastily wrapped around his waist.

When the elf looked up again, there was both deep worry and anger in his eyes. "Aragorn, this injury has not even been treated!"

"I did treat it," Aragorn answered, still not looking at his friend. "I put some athelas on it and wrapped a bandage around it."

Legolas stared at him. "You know that this wound is poisoned, don't you?"

Aragorn did not say anything.

Something changed in Legolas' eyes, and sudden understanding and pain showed in them. "You feared to come too late to save me – so you did not even take the time to treat your own wounds? Even if they were poisoned?"

His voice was nothing but a whisper, and Aragorn could not stand to hear the pain and guilt in it. He met his friend's gaze. "I did not know how to treat this poison, so I used all the athelas I had on it. The wound did not slow me down or cause much pain, and I truly believed for a while that the athelas had drawn the poison out or counteracted it. Only today did I notice that infection had set in again, and that there were still no signs of healing. I may have been preoccupied over the last days, but I did not neglect this wound, Legolas. There was simply nothing I could do about it."

Legolas looked at him, knowing that there _was_ something Aragorn could have done. He could have gone on in the opposite direction, towards the heart of the woodland realm and safety, but Legolas did not say so, knowing that he himself would never have taken that path if Aragorn was in danger. He simply nodded, having no choice but to accept Aragorn's reasons, though he did not like the results.

"I know this poison," he said, letting the matter rest for the moment. "Athelas usually does not have much effect on it, though it may be more potent in your hands. If the wound did not pain you or get worse before it is mainly due to the nature of this poison. The orcs started using it about a year ago. They only use it when they want to make prisoners. It is the nature of the poison that it works slow. Our healers refer to it as 'the creeping death'. First it weakens you, then it makes you sick, and afterwards it will kill you slowly and painfully."

Legolas' face was very pale while he described the nature of the poison, and he did not look at Aragorn but kept his eyes on the angry red streaks that surrounded the ugly cut in the man's side. "It makes the prisoners easy to handle and weakens them, and also hinders them from escaping. If the orcs want them to survive longer than a week, they have an antidote that stops the progress of the poison for a while. Our healers have found a more effective antidote, which cures the victim completely, but the plant needed cannot be found during this time of the year."

He looked up at the man, a serious expression on his pale face. "We either need to get the antidote from the orcs or we need to get back to the palace as soon as possible. We will not be able to reach it in time, but we might find a patrol near the Elf Path."

He very much looked as if he wanted to leave immediately, and Aragorn could not help feeling alarmed. "Legolas – I do not want you to even come near those orcs again, in fact they are far too many for both of us to handle, and they are warned now. And we cannot leave for the palace now. You would break down from exhaustion in less than a day's time, and the orcs would soon catch us."

"But…" Legolas began, helpless desperation in his voice. "Aragorn, I do not know how this poison works on a human! What if it works faster on you than it would on one of my kind? It might kill you much sooner!"

There was something nearly frantic in the elf's eyes now. Aragorn realized too late that this situation must be much too similar to the terrible nightmares his friend had had over the last days. He laid a comforting hand on the elf's arm, trying to make him listen. "Legolas, we cannot go now. The orcs would kill me much faster than the poison ever could. Let us rest first and then make our way back to the Elf Path, and from there to the palace."

Legolas closed his eyes, and Aragorn saw that his hands were clenched into fists. Slowly, the elf nodded, resignation in his face. "You are right," he admitted reluctantly. "But at least allow me to treat your wound properly."

Aragorn looked at the elf, who was nearly shaking with fatigue by now, and suppressed a sigh. "As you wish," he said, knowing that his stubborn friend would not give in until he had either cared for the wound or had blacked out from exhaustion.

Strangely enough, though Legolas could barely keep himself upright, his fingers were both gentle and skilful when he cleaned and dressed the wound, and he did not hurt Aragorn even once. Only when he was done his hands started to shake and he nearly dropped the bandages. Aragorn took them out of the elf's fingers and reacted just in time to catch Legolas when he collapsed. The new worry and the constant fight against his exhaustion had finally been too much.

The ranger smiled down at his unconscious friend fondly and exasperatedly. He gently lowered the elf to the ground and covered him with one of the blankets. Then he folded the elf's spare cloak and put it under his head as a makeshift pillow. He looked at his friend for a long moment. Legolas' eyes were closed, and the bruises stood out starkly against the too-pale skin. Aragorn had not rested easy during the last nights, the worry over his friend's fate keeping him awake. Both his days and his nights had been long and filled with fear.

He knew he would be able to sleep well tonight. Legolas might not be hale yet, but he was free and as safe as he could be. Aragorn doubted that the orcs would find them here, and there was not much either of them could do if they did, so he decided to rest as well. He was not too worried about his poisoned wound yet, but he knew that he needed rest if he wanted to be of any use tomorrow. He settled down right beside his friend, where he would be able to keep an eye on the elf, wrapped himself into his blanket, and drifted off into a light, watchful sleep almost immediately.

_To be continued…_

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Footnotes:

(1) Since Tolkien does not tell us much about the Mirkwood elves in LotR and The Hobbit, I've taken the liberty of assuming that some of their practical habits might be similar to those of their Lothlórien kindred. The "flet" Aragorn has built here is obviously in no way comparable to the sturdy wooden platforms described in the "Lothlórien"-chapter of LotR, but for elves who have to patrol such a vast forest as Mirkwood it might be more useful. :)

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_Well, Aragorn is real, but I'm afraid that didn't really solve their problems. (g) Nonetheless I think that's a nice place to leave you. ;-)_


	4. Encounter

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave me a review, I really appreciate it! Here's more angst for you, I hope you'll enjoy it! EstelKid and Mrs. Staffel, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. Feedback is very welcome. :-)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I just want to add that I also own the poison. Yay. :P_

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**Chapter Four: Encounter**

"_No my friend, darkness is not everywhere,  
for here and there I find faces illuminated from within;  
paper lanterns among the dark trees."  
_Carole Borges

Aragorn was startled from his dreamless sleep when a stifled scream broke through the silence of early dawn. He jerked upright immediately, his hand going to the hilt of an imaginary sword before he realized that there was no foe in sight. Looking to the side, he saw that Legolas was restlessly tossing and turning in his sleep, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. He quickly knelt down at his friend's side, taking both of the elf's hands in his and squeezing them firmly. Legolas flinched slightly, but did not awake.

"Legolas! Wake up, my friend. It is a dream, it is only a dream!"

Legolas moaned. "No… Please no," he whispered.

Aragorn released his friend's hands and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "It is only a dream! Listen to me, mellon-nîn! You have to wake up now!"

Finally, the elf reacted to the insistent voice, and his eyes blinked open. There was a moment of panic and disorientation, before his gaze found Aragorn's face and fixed on it. "Estel…?" he asked, sounding confused.

"Yes, it is me," Aragorn answered, relieved. He released his friend's shoulders.

Legolas sat up slowly and looked around. Recognition soon dawned in his eyes and Aragorn knew that the elf remembered now. Legolas hugged his knees tightly to his chest and stayed so for a long moment, his head bowed.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, worry and compassion in his voice. "What did you dream?"

For a moment he thought that Legolas would not answer, but then his friend raised his head and looked at him. He seemed deeply disturbed. "I dreamt about my father," he said softly. "I was used… against him. He was about to give in to their demands. I know he never would, but-" He broke off, not sure how to explain the turmoil of emotions and doubts inside of him.

The images and thoughts that his friend's words conjured up made Aragorn shudder inside and he needed no explanation to understand what effect the dream must have had on his friend after all the elf had just been through. No wonder Legolas had cried out in his sleep. He put a comforting arm around the elf's shoulders. "It was only a dream," he repeated quietly.

Legolas looked at him searchingly, as if he needed some kind of reassurance about what was true and what not. He seemed to find what he was looking for, because he nodded and sighed. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not want to wake you."

"I promised you to wake you from your nightmares," Aragorn reminded him with a smile. "Besides, I think this is all the daylight we will get."

Legolas looked around and noticed just as Aragorn had done that it was already dawn. He listened intently, both to the sounds of the forest and the voices of the trees. "There are no orcs nearby," he said. "We will be safe if we leave now."

Aragorn eyed him closely and noticed that his friend looked much better today. Now that the fright of his nightmare had faded, there was a bit of colour in his face and the bruises did not seem so prominent anymore. As they were both rested sufficiently, it would not be a bad idea if they left as soon as possible. "Then we should leave now," he decided.

They quickly rolled up their blankets, and Aragorn slung the much lighter bag around his shoulders. Legolas took a moment to thank the tree and felt immediately enveloped in a deep, loving warmth. When he returned to Aragorn, there was a smile on his face. Suddenly noticing that the elf was completely unarmed now, the ranger wordlessly handed him his own simple hunting bow, a quiver with arrows, and a long knife.

Legolas accepted them gratefully, though there was a flicker of pain in his eyes when he realized that his own trusted longbow and his twin knives were in the hands of orcs now. His jaw muscles hardened, and he turned away. Aragorn stayed silent. He could not tell if there would ever be a chance to get his friend's weapons back. First, they had to survive.

The wood-elf needed no help to climb down the tree today, though his movements were still lacking their usual grace. On the ground, they took a moment to refill their water flasks in a nearby brook and ate some more of the Elvish waybread. Then they set out, intent on covering as much distance as they could today. They moved silently and carefully, aware that the orcs could be either before or behind them now. Whenever the way was passable for the human, they took to the trees.

Legolas had taken the lead, and Aragorn followed him closely. From time to time Aragorn could feel the elf's eyes upon him, but when he turned his head, Legolas would either be looking at the way in front of them or scanning the trees around them. Aragorn knew that the elf was worried for him, but Legolas seemed not inclined to share his thoughts, and so the man stayed silent, too.

They were moving through complete silence. There was not a single living creature to be heard or seen apart from the mighty, gnarled trees around them, whose dark, interwoven branches and thick foliage filtered out almost all daylight, shrouding the world below them in the typical, perpetual dark twilight of Mirkwood. Legolas had told him many tales of how this forest had been before it had fallen into shadow, but Aragorn found it hard to believe that this had once been a light and beautiful forest while he was moving through this dark, silent place.

The trees were old, and it could be seen that some of them had been majestic once, but apart from that all traces of former beauty seemed to have vanished from the greater part of the forest, particularly in the south. Aragorn knew that Legolas had never seen the Great Greenwood himself, but he still loved this forest with a deep intensity, perceiving it and connecting with it in a way that only a wood-elf could. From time to time, they could hear the pattering of rain on the leaves above, and water would drip down on them or run down the trunks of the trees, letting them appear even darker.

About noon, Aragorn insisted on a rest and Legolas complied. Aragorn felt neither tired nor weary yet, but he was quite sure that Legolas was making haste out of his worry for him, neglecting the needs of his own still-weakened body. The way the elf sat down immediately and without any grace confirmed his suspicions. He looked much too tired for Aragorn's taste, and he was well aware that the elf's constant worrying about him did not help his recovery at all.

He watched as Legolas leaned his shoulder against a nearby tree, and soon rested his head against the bark as well, closing his eyes. The sight was both familiar and calming. Soon the elf's features relaxed slightly, and some of the strain and the fatigue that Aragorn had read in his friend's face seemed to fade. Not being able to communicate with trees in any way, Aragorn could only begin to imagine how torturous it must have been for Legolas to be tied to one of the dark, poisoned trees. The elf used every opportunity now to cleanse himself of the memory, and it seemed to strengthen him.

Aragorn settled back comfortably against another tree, took out his pipe and pipeweed, and soon began to smoke, prepared to wait patiently until Legolas stirred again, however long it might take. One of the elf's hands had instinctively closed around a tree root now, and Aragorn was not sure if his friend was listening, resting, or had fallen asleep. In any case, he would let Legolas rest as long as he needed.

But only minutes had passed when the elf straightened again and opened his eyes. His fingers still lingered on the bark, while his eyes were already searching for Aragorn. Legolas' lips twitched and there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes when he noticed the pipe. "I should have known that you would take _that_ with you," he commented dryly. "That smell will probably attract orcs from all over Mirkwood."

Aragorn cast him a longsuffering glance, put out the pipe, and knocked it out before he stowed it away again. "I doubt very much that orcs are able to smell anything beyond their own putrid stench," he replied, "and as fine a smell as that of Longbottom Leaf would probably rather drive them away."

His words were rewarded by a smile on the elf's face. The sight lightened Aragorn's heart. If Legolas was already able to joke about orcs again, he must be much better indeed. In companionable silence they removed all traces of their short rest and soon set out again.

----------

The next hours passed in much the same way as the hours before, only that the trees grew so densely now that they were able to walk through the branches and avoid the ground the entire time. When it was already afternoon Legolas suddenly came to a dead stop. His body tensed, and he tilted his head slightly as if listening. Aragorn, who just had begun to harbour the hope that nothing else would happen today, knew immediately that this hope had been in vain.

"They are here," Legolas breathed, his voice no louder than a soft rustling of leaves.

Aragorn did not have to ask. The elf was looking directly ahead, and his whole body seemed to be poised for either fight or flight. Legolas hesitated for a moment, then, slowly, he went on. Aragorn followed him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the ground below them for any sign of the enemy. His face hardened. Come what may, he would not be separated from his friend again.

Legolas stopped once more and Aragorn stepped to his side, close enough that their shoulders touched. Through a gap in the foliage before them they could see a hollow in the ground, surrounded by dark trees. Numerous dark figures were lying in the shadows of the hollow, and a distant, but undoubtedly foul, smell reminded Aragorn of his own words only hours before. He watched the figures closely for a while, but he could detect no movement. The creatures were asleep. The ranger relaxed slowly, realizing only now that he had held his breath.

His attention turned from the orcs towards Legolas again when he felt a slight shiver run through the elf's body. One glance showed him that his friend was still as tense as a bowstring. The elf's eyes were narrowed, and colder than Aragorn had ever seen them before. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the hilt of the knife that the knuckles stood out white. There was hatred in his eyes, but also a barely perceptible hint of fear. Aragorn followed his friend's intense gaze.

The elf's eyes rested on two orcs that kept some distance from the others. Looking closer, Aragorn noticed that one of them was slightly bigger than the rest, and the other had a badly scarred face. Suddenly he understood. Something light caught his attention, and right next to the big orc he recognized the ivory handles of two familiar elven knives. He felt anger rise up in him once more, but it was swiftly replaced by concern. If he already reacted like this, how must Legolas feel now?

He looked at the orcs, knowing that these two had been the ones who had hurt Legolas the most, and wishing he could cut their throats right now. Redirecting his gaze to the elf at his side, he studied his friend's face closely, noticing that Legolas wrestled with himself. Aragorn was aware that they needed to leave, but he did not dare touch the elf for fear of startling him to a reaction that might rouse the attention of one of the creatures below them. Finally, after a seemingly endless time, Legolas tore his gaze away from his tormentors and turned with a jerk. He walked away so quickly that Aragorn was hard-pressed to follow him.

After a while, the elf slowed down again, perhaps becoming aware of the human's difficulties in keeping up with him. Aragorn caught up to his friend and stopped the elf by taking hold of his arm. "Are you alright?" he asked, not trying to hide the concern in his voice.

For a moment, the only answer was silence. "I will be," the elf answered finally, only meeting his friend's eyes for a short instant before looking away again.

Aragorn found himself wishing that they had not stumbled across those orcs, but he knew it was better to know where the orcs were than to stumble into them blindly when they least expected it. So he simply accepted his friend's words and concentrated on getting as much distance between the orcs and themselves as possible. It was harder for him to move over the branches than it was for the elf, and the ranger felt quite tired already.

The orcs did not know where their escaped prisoner was, but they would surely head northwards as well. If they did not want to take the risk of running into the orcs nearly the entire way to the palace, they had to get far ahead of them. Perhaps the orcs would take a different route and they would not even meet them again, but Aragorn somehow doubted it. The creatures were on the hunt and they would not give up easily. The only thing that would distract them from Legolas was if they found another elf, and they could not allow that to happen.

Besides, Aragorn feared that the orcs were as much driven by personal hatred as by their orders now and would probably even go after Legolas if they ran into other elves on the way. The thought worried the ranger, and he did not even want to think about what would happen to his friend if he was caught again. They would have to stay away from the orcs at all costs and somehow find a way to survive until they had reached the safer part of the forest. They could expect no help before that – no one would miss them before it was too late.

Aragorn was distracted from his dark thoughts as one of his feet slipped on a branch. He managed to catch himself against a tree trunk just in time, but his heart was beating wildly and his knees felt suddenly weak. He chided himself for not paying more attention. Looking forward, he saw that Legolas had not realized his near-slip and was steadily moving on. Aragorn was quite aware that the inattentiveness of the elf could only be due to the fact that he was lost in his own dark thoughts, but at least in this moment Legolas' brooding had worked in his favour.

He quickened his pace and had soon closed the distance between them. Looking around, he could only hope that they still had some hours of twilight left before nightfall. After the sun had set he would not be able to see anything at all and Legolas would have to lead him. Besides that, the orcs would start moving then at the latest. In the midst of moving from a small branch to the sturdier branch of another tree, Aragorn was hit by a bout of dizziness. For a split second he saw only black dots, and then he felt himself falling.

He quickly tried to regain his balance, but it was too late. In the moment when the dizziness hit him, he had stepped right into thin air and now he was falling backwards into the empty space between the two trees. Suddenly there was a jerk, and Aragorn found himself struggling for breath when his fall was stopped by a strong grip on his cloak and tunic. There was a sound like the tearing of fabric, and then a hand found his belt and he was dragged back up on a wide branch. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing and feel arms around him, then there was only rough, solid bark beneath him.

For a moment he lay dazed, then he slowly moved up on one elbow. He looked right into the widened eyes of Legolas, who knelt beside him, the fingers of one hand still closed tightly around a piece of fabric that had torn off from Aragorn's tunic. There was blood on one of the bandages around his wrists and the ranger could easily see that he had given the elf quite a fright.

"What happened?" Legolas asked anxiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am," Aragorn hastened to reassure his friend. "I…" He broke off. What _had_ happened? He remembered the sudden dizziness and then… the fall. He realized he could have broken his neck. He looked into Legolas' eyes. He knew the elf would not like what he had to say, but he was not able to lie to his friend. "I felt dizzy all of a sudden," he said quietly. "For a moment I was disoriented… and took a misstep."

They both knew what this meant. This was the last thing they needed right now, with the orcs so close behind them. For the first time since he had started pursuing the orcs, Aragorn felt the wound in his side throb and burn. Legolas' eyes moved from Aragorn's face to the part of his tunic that hid the wound from his eyes as if he could feel the poison, too. "We can bathe the wound and continue to treat it with the herbs we have," the elf said softly. "Perhaps it will slow down the poison."

"It will slow _us_ down!" Aragorn protested.

"That cannot be helped," Legolas replied, finality in his voice. "How do you feel? Are you able to go on if we leave the trees?"

"I feel still a bit dizzy," Aragorn answered truthfully. "And tired. I will be able to go on, but we cannot leave the trees, Legolas. The orcs are on the ground, and they will be moving soon. It is too dangerous."

"I will not risk another accident like this one," Legolas said determinedly, looking into Aragorn's eyes. "We could not have gone on like this after nightfall, anyway. And now stop protesting and let me treat your wound, or we will lose even more time."

Aragorn complied.

After the wound had been bathed, treated, and newly bandaged, and after Aragorn had taken care of the elf's wrist that had been caught between the man's weight and the rough bark of the branch before, Legolas helped Aragorn down the tree and they started out again, determined to walk on until nightfall and perhaps longer.

Legolas soon realized that they would not come as far today as he had hoped. Aragorn moved slower than usual, and the weariness in his face worried the elf. After the man had stumbled for the third time, Legolas had had enough. He took hold of the man's arm and stopped him. He knew that Aragorn was hiding his exhaustion and trying to go on for his sake, but he was not about to allow it.

"We will stay here," he said in a voice that did not invite any argument.

Aragorn looked first at the elf, and then at their surroundings. It was already dusk, and the grey twilight around them was fading into darkness. It was much earlier than they had planned to rest today. "Legolas-" he began.

The elf cut him off. "We will not be able to escape when we are both completely exhausted, Aragorn," he said.

There was nothing that Aragorn could have said against that, apart from the fact that he knew that Legolas was perhaps tired, but not exhausted yet. He cursed the poison and his own weakness, knowing that he endangered them both. He tried not to think of Legolas' description of the symptoms, but the healer in him was aware that this was going to get worse, not better. Knowing that Legolas would not give in anyway, Aragorn did not protest any further.

This time it was Legolas who built a simple flet, not allowing Aragorn to help in any way. When the flet was ready, the elf climbed back down and made sure that the ranger arrived there safely. Sitting high up in the tree that would shelter them for the night, they watched the last traces of daylight fade around them and soon they were engulfed by the pitch-black darkness of a Mirkwood night. Or at least it seemed like that to a human. Legolas' elven eyes were still able to pierce the blackness, though the world around him was dark and filled with shadows.

"You should rest," he said softly to the troubled human at his side. "The troubles will still be there tomorrow, you need not worry about them now."

He could see Aragorn smile at this, though it was a sad smile. "I know," the man answered. "Just tell me you are going to rest, too."

"I think the tree would warn me of their approach," Legolas replied. "Do not worry, I will rest."

Seemingly content, Aragorn settled down beside him and before he could start groping around blindly for his blanket, Legolas had already spread it over him. The ranger sighed softly, and only moments later his breathing evened out, telling the elf that his friend had fallen asleep. Quietly, he wrapped himself into his own blanket and lay down at the man's side, trying to forget the worries that were weighing him down and leave them for tomorrow, as he had told Aragorn to do.

Luckily he was still weary enough from his captivity to make sleep come swiftly.

----------

Aragorn awoke when it was still dark, and for a moment he did not know what had disturbed his sleep. Then he heard Legolas moan. The elf was moving restlessly and moaning in what seemed to be the beginning of another nightmare. The ranger knew that another scream could alert the orcs to their presence, and apart from that he could not bear his friend's suffering. Legolas had been through enough without terrible dreams that conjured up even worse scenarios. The man felt around carefully and finally found his friend's shoulder, and then one cold hand. He was relieved when Legolas did not shy away from his touch. He took the elf's hand in his own, gently lacing his fingers through the elf's.

The elf's fingers pressed back so hard for a moment that Aragorn winced, but he did not break the contact. Legolas' breathing was ragged, and he was still moaning. The ranger began to talk to his friend quietly in Elvish, speaking about everything that came to his mind, about all the good memories they shared. Slowly, Legolas quieted down and the pressure on Aragorn's hand eased up. The man squeezed the elf's fingers and felt his friend unconsciously returning the gesture. Legolas drifted off into sleep again, still holding on to the ranger's hand lightly.

Relieved, Aragorn listened to the soft, regular breathing of his friend for a while. Letting his hand stay where it was, he settled down again, hoping that the elf would be able to rest peacefully for the rest of the night, free from all sorrows and memories. Closing his eyes, the ranger soon sank into a deep, dreamless sleep once again.

_To be continued…_

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Note 1: The descriptions of Mirkwood in this story stem mainly from "The Hobbit", Chapter 8: "Flies and Spiders". 

Note 2: I do not believe Tolkien's elves are able to suffer from nightmares under normal circumstances. There's a reason why Legolas is still not able to control his dreams. ;-)

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_Well, the orcs did not notice them and Aragorn did not fall – they seem to have a lucky streak. We'll see how long it will last. ;-)_


	5. Confrontation

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, you made my day! (hugs) Reviews and chocolate have two very important things in common: they are not necessary for survival, but they definitely sweeten one's life (and help to motivate authors). ;-) Here's another especially long chapter for you. I'd love to hear what you think about it!:-)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I still don't own them! (SOB)_

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**Chapter Five: Confrontation**

_"Friendship is the thread  
that ties two souls together."_  
Anonymous

When Legolas awoke in the first dim light of the early morning, he found his hand in Aragorn's, who was still soundly asleep beside him. It was easy to guess what must have happened during the night, though Legolas could not remember waking up or having had any dreams at all. He smiled at the human whom he knew to be somehow responsible for his peaceful sleep, but the smile faded when he noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his friend's brow, and how hot the man's fingers were against his.

It was obvious that Aragorn was not better, but perhaps worse. Legolas gently withdrew his hand and sat up slowly, trying not to wake his slumbering friend. But as careful as he had been, Aragorn awoke immediately when the elf's fingers slipped from his grasp, his eyes searching for his friend and fixing on the elf's face. Seeing that Legolas was well, he relaxed slowly. For a moment neither of them spoke, both sharing a look of silent understanding.

Aragorn felt very much as if he could sleep on forever, but knowing that they needed to be on their way as soon as possible, he forced himself to sit up. His limbs ached as if from an unknown exertion, and his head felt twice as big as it should be. He attempted to hide his state from his friend, but as soon as he sat upright the dizziness was back and he started to sway. Immediately, two hands gripped his shoulders firmly, stabilizing him.

When the dizziness had passed he found himself looking into alarmed blue eyes. "You are worse," the elf stated, fighting hard to keep his emotions out of his voice.

"I feel sick," Aragorn conceded, knowing that Legolas had already seen through him and that it would be dangerous for both of them if he tried to hide anything as serious as this.

"How bad is it?" the elf wanted to know.

"I am not sure. I feel dizzy again and something is wrong with my head. I think I am running a fever."

Legolas nodded. There was nothing either of them could do, and they both knew it. "I will take care of your wound now, then we should go." He rose to roll up the blankets and get the healing supplies. When Aragorn tried to rise, too, Legolas put a hand on his shoulder and held him down.

"Rest," he said. "You will need your strength."

Aragorn obeyed, knowing that the elf was right. So he just moved a bit to lean back against the tree trunk and watched Legolas gather the blankets and the bag and prepare the herbs he would need. As he had done yesterday, the elf bathed the wound, applied the herbs, and bandaged it anew. Afterwards he helped Aragorn to his feet, and down the tree. He had taken the bag from the man and was keeping a constant eye on him.

Aragorn knew that his friend feared for him. He wished he could ease the elf's worries, but there was nothing he could do. So he simply stayed silent, accepted Legolas' help when he needed it, and did not comment on the fact that the elf only left his side when it was completely unavoidable. The elf set a much slower pace than yesterday, but after they had walked for some hours Aragorn still came to the realization that he would not be able to keep up much longer. He felt nauseated, and his legs were shaking. He began stumbling over tree-roots, and if it hadn't been for Legolas' steadying hand he would have fallen more than once.

Finally, his vision suddenly blacked out and he hit his shin against a gnarled tree-root that rose up in front of him. Losing his balance completely, his knees buckled and Legolas barely managed to catch him before he could fall to the ground. The elf held on to Aragorn tightly until the human had caught his breath and straightened in his arms.

"I think it is your turn to lean on me," the elf said, his voice shaking slightly and one hand still firmly on Aragorn's arm, supporting him.

It took a moment before the words registered in the human's hazy mind, but then he shook his head. He vividly remembered the bruises he had seen on his friend's body and treated only a day ago. "No," he said. "I would hurt you."

He had expected Legolas to deny his words, but the elf stayed silent for a moment, looking at him. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. "You will hurt me more if you go on like this," he finally said softly. "Sooner or later you will fall and injure yourself further. We will not get very far then."

Aragorn knew that the elf was right, but he was still reluctant to cause his friend more pain. "I can walk on my own a while longer," he said.

Legolas sighed. "You have tried to walk on your own for hours now and have proven that you cannot do it," he replied. "Aragorn, let me help you. I do not want to see you fall again, and I can bear your weight."

Realizing that Legolas was not only right, but also not about to give in, Aragorn finally nodded. When they walked on, Legolas had his own arm around the ranger's waist and one of Aragorn's arms around his shoulders, and the sick human could not help leaning against his friend's support. Legolas did not even wince, and he ignored the painful pressure on his bruised skin as well as he could.

They had to walk slowly, but as Aragorn did not stumble or fall now they made good progress nonetheless. From time to time Legolas halted to check on his friend and make Aragorn drink some water. The human was very sick by now. Legolas could feel him shiver against him or burn in fever while they walked, and sometimes he would black out for a moment and nearly drag them both down. The human's condition worried Legolas more than he wanted to admit, but he refused to dwell on his fear and used it instead to strengthen his resolve to get them both away from here as soon as possible.

It was already late afternoon when Legolas heard a distant sound that did not belong to the wind and the forest, and the trees whispered a silent warning. For a moment he froze, realizing that he did not have the time to get both of them up a tree, and there was no shelter in sight. He felt Aragorn look at him questioningly, and it was enough to start him moving again. He quickly dragged both of them behind a big tree, hiding them from sight.

Only moments later the stomping feet and the growling voices of orcs could be heard, coming from the exact direction where the elf and the human had been headed before. Legolas shivered slightly as he realized that they would have run right into their enemies had they gone on. Aragorn's eyes widened as he realized why they had stopped. Their eyes met for a moment, then the orcs' voices grew louder and Legolas tensed, pressing back against the tree as close as he could. He looked to the side where the voices came from, and his fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt of the knife once more.

"Do you have a trace now or not?" a loud, angry voice cut through the silence of the forest.

Hearing the Black Speech again and recognizing the voice made Legolas wince, and he had to fight down the sudden impulse to flee from both the voices and the memories they conjured up. Instead, he forced himself to remain completely still and motionless.

"I smell elf-blood," another voice answered in a strange mixture of whining and snarling.

Legolas grit his teeth, fighting down a stab of fear mixed with memories of a distorted face next to his own and a blade pressed painfully against his throat.

"You _always_ smell elf-blood," the orc leader answered derisively.

In the same moment, Aragorn collapsed.

Legolas quickly caught him and lowered the human to a kneeling position as silently as possible. For a moment he was assaulted by the terrible fear that Aragorn had succumbed to the poison right here and now, but laying a hand on the human's chest he could feel his heart still beating. He straightened into a standing position again, his heart pounding so loud that he was afraid the orcs would hear it. He closed his eyes, listening intently.

"You should listen to me," the scar-faced orc snarled. "I can _smell_ him. I know he's near."

"And he was also there when you awoke yesterday," the leader sneered. "Do you think he follows us because he misses your _touch_? Don't you think I know that you've played with him?"

Legolas felt another shiver run through his body, and he wanted nothing more but to get away from here or at least cover his ears. The memories caused by the voices were still too painful and too near. The mere thought that the orcs could find them made his blood run cold. To see Aragorn die in front of his eyes… to fall into their hands again… it was more than he could bear. He felt a sudden movement against his leg and flinched before his thoughts cleared and he realized what was happening.

Silently he knelt down beside his friend, putting a hand over the waking human's mouth to stop him from making a sound. The elf's other hand stayed on the hilt of his knife, holding on to it as if it was a lifeline.

"You've lost the trace or you never had one," the orc leader went on, but Legolas did not really listen, preoccupied with watching the human's eyes blink open.

For a moment Aragorn seemed to be confused, but then he obviously heard the voices and tensed. Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he nodded slightly at Legolas, who removed his hand. The elf did not bother rising again. It was not worth taking the risk of making a sound at the wrong moment and giving their position away. He tried to concentrate on the tree-bark that pressed against his arm instead of the hated voices. He hated the orcs even more for making him feel so vulnerable.

"You can play with the elf all you want when we have him. But now you'll obey me and go on!" There was a barely veiled threat in the rough voice now.

Legolas lowered his head, feeling Aragorn's gaze on him and not wanting his friend to see the emotions in his eyes. His muscles were tensed, and everything inside of him screamed to either fight or run, to do anything but sit here and listen. At the same time, he was afraid of being overpowered and rendered helpless again. They had stripped him of his strength and nearly broken his courage. He did not think he could bear being at the orcs' mercy once more. He felt ashamed of his own weakness and that Aragorn might see it.

Legolas started slightly when he felt a light touch on his hand. He raised his head apprehensively and saw Aragorn looking back at him. There was nothing but understanding and warmth in those grey eyes. He felt the man take his hand in his own and entwine their fingers gently. A vague memory of a nightmare driven away by kind words and a familiar touch brushed the elf's mind, and he returned the pressure of his friend's fingers almost desperately for a moment, before he slowly calmed down, strangely comforted by the human's presence and compassion in spite of the situation they were in.

"Perhaps you don't want to find the elf at all!" the scarred orc snarled. "Perhaps you don't want to share-"

Aragorn held his friend's gaze, as if telling him silently not to listen, and to concentrate on him instead. Legolas looked at him and felt the firm pressure of the man's fingers against his own. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to release part of the tension in his body and to calm his hammering heart. He let his head rest against the tree bark and for the first time heard the tree's soothing murmur.

There was a warning growl behind them, then the sudden clashing of steel against steel, a muffled noise, and a terrible shriek. Legolas nearly jumped, but Aragorn squeezed his hand comfortingly and the elf forced himself to relax again. Behind them, something fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"Anyone else who wants to question my decisions?" the growling voice of the orc leader asked. The menace in it was unmistakable. The only answer was silence. "Then we'll leave now. They can't be far. A hurt elf and a dying human can't outrun us. We just need to find them."

There were answering grunts, and then the breaking of twigs under heavily booted feet told that the orcs were moving again. The noise slowly receded into the distance, as did the guttural voices that accompanied it. Legolas listened tensely, not yet willing to trust the peace, but the murmuring voices of the trees assured him that the orcs were gone.

Suddenly he felt incredibly tired. He leaned wearily against the tree trunk, trying not to think of the orc's last comments. _Dying human_. He had been right about the poison, and the orcs knew about it, too. Perhaps this was why they had left Aragorn behind. Through his dark thoughts and his weariness Legolas became aware of a dull, throbbing pain in his left forearm. The wound always hurt when he was putting strain on it, which had been quite often, but it had not burned like this since Aragorn had treated it.

Legolas forced himself to sit perfectly still, as he suddenly _knew_ what caused the pain. And why the orc leader had forced the potion into him. All the orcs' weapons had been poisoned, including the arrow that had hit him. He opened his eyes, looking into Aragorn's worried face. And found he could not tell him. There was nothing he himself or Aragorn would be able to do about it.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Legolas felt a myriad of emotions swirl through his head in answer to that simple question. "No," he finally managed to get out. "I do not think I am."

He looked at his friend closely. "They left you to die from the poison, didn't they?" he asked quietly.

Aragorn did not evade his gaze. "It seems like it," he answered, his voice calm, his eyes searching his friend's face. "You look tired."

"You look much worse than only tired," Legolas returned, wishing the human would have been less perceptive. "I am sorry. If you had not gone after me, you would be safe now." He felt a dull ache in his heart at the thought that his friend could be safe and well now if it were not for him. He lowered his head, looking down at the grass and the earth he was kneeling on unseeingly.

"If I had not gone after you, I would be dying inside now," Aragorn countered gently.

"But you would not be…" _dying_, he wanted to say, but he found himself unable to say it aloud, as if saying the word would make it come true. He felt tired and miserable and his inability to help his friend, who had done so much for him and still did, and the fear that the orc might be right, weighed heavily on his heart. Still, he could not bring himself to pull his hand from Aragorn's grasp, taking too much comfort from the fingers that were still laced through his own.

He felt Aragorn's fingers under his chin, lifting his head until he was looking at his friend once more. The ranger studied the elf's face closely for a moment and Legolas felt like squirming under the scrutiny, knowing that there was nearly nothing that his friend would not see.

"Do not lose hope," the man said gently. "Neither of us is dead yet."

Legolas' breath hitched in his throat. As usual, Aragorn had been able to read him effortlessly and find just the right words to soothe his fears. "I always wondered how Elrond was able to name you so aptly," the elf whispered. Holding his friend's gaze, he added: "I will not lose hope as long as there is hope to hold on to."

Aragorn did not comment on this, understanding the meaning of the elf's words and knowing he could not ask for more now. Legolas leaned forward slightly, and for a moment their foreheads touched.

"Thank you," the elf whispered. "Thank you for being there when I need you."

"You have always done the same for me," the human answered softly.

Legolas felt the tension drain out of his body and, for one moment, he felt safe. But the moment was gone soon and he knew they had to leave. The orcs had obviously decided to move day and night now. They had gone into the wrong direction, but Legolas knew he needed to get the both of them away from here as soon and as far away as possible.

They were both weakened and Aragorn was sick and exhausted on top of it. They would soon have to move even slower, while the orcs were strong and fast and needed not much rest at all. They would only be able to reach the Elf Path if they succeeded in evading the orcs, and if Aragorn could fight the poison some days longer. Legolas knew they would need luck and they must not make any mistakes. To be seen by the orcs would be their end.

He could read in Aragorn's eyes that the human was aware of their situation in spite of his fever and weakness. Putting one firm arm around the human's waist, the elf helped his friend to his feet once more. For a moment, Aragorn slumped against him, then he recovered slowly and straightened in the elf's grasp as far as he was able. They left their hiding-place and looked around warily, both not really able to believe that the danger had passed. They were only too aware of how much luck they had had, and still a bit shaken by the close call. They could only hope that the orcs would not come back soon.

But the only thing they saw were the traces the orcs had left, and something else they had both expected to see: the beheaded carcass of one of the creatures. Aragorn felt Legolas stiffen beside him, and then the elf slowly let go of him, waiting until the human leaned securely against the tree instead. Legolas took one, two steps in the direction of the carcass, staring down into the distorted face that would never mock him again and at the lifeless body that could not hurt anyone now.

The eyes of the elf were unreadable again and he stood there for a long, frozen moment. Aragorn watched him closely. Finally, Legolas turned and came back to his friend, wordlessly putting Aragorn's arm around his shoulders and shifting the human's weight so that it rested against him once more.

"Feeling better?" Aragorn asked softly.

Legolas looked up at him. His eyes were dark, and he hesitated for a moment. "I am glad that he is dead," he answered finally. "But I wish all of them were lying there."

There was understanding in Aragorn's eyes. The death of the orc had brought him some satisfaction, though he had never seen him before. He knew that the emotions of someone who had actually been tormented by that creature must be much stronger. "Let us hope that this is not the last time they turn on each other," he commented.

Legolas smiled at him, but there was no joy or humour in it. "If only it could be that easy. I wish I could burn that," he tilted his head slightly in the direction of the corpse. "The trees are not happy to have it in their midst."

"I cannot blame them," Aragorn replied. The orc seemed to be even more disgusting in death than he must have been while he was still alive. He was only glad that Legolas was safe from this vile creature now.

Both of them were relieved when they had left the carcass and the orcs' traces behind them. As Legolas had anticipated, they had to move even slower now. Aragorn tried to keep moving his legs and lessen the burden that the elf had to carry, but he could do nothing against the deteriorating state of his body. Legolas tried to find the easiest way for them and keep the human from stumbling over tree roots or undergrowth, but he did not always succeed. The human began to stumble more often and slump against his companion, and Legolas soon had to carry most of Aragorn's weight.

It got even more difficult when dusk turned into night around them and Aragorn could not even see where he was walking any longer. Legolas began to speak to the human softly, trying to keep him aware and awake. With the proximity of the orcs and their own slow progress he did not dare stop now. He knew that the exertion would worsen his friend's condition, but rest would not stop the poison from consuming Aragorn's body or his own, and if the orcs found them all other worries would be meaningless.

For a while, hearing the elf's voice seemed to help the ranger, and he even answered his friend from time to time. Each time Legolas heard his friend's weak voice answer him or felt the ranger react to him in any way strengthened his resolve to go on and do all he could to get the both of them out of here. He felt the poison, which had been stopped by the orcs' potion before, finally take hold of him and spread inside of his body, which had barely begun to recover from his captivity. It took all his remaining strength and stubbornness to not give in to his weariness and fatigue, keep his hold on Aragorn, and walk on.

He lost all feeling of time in the darkness and concentrated only on each next step, trying to ignore the heaviness of his aching limbs and the weight that rested against him. Only the knowledge that he held Aragorn's life in his hands as well as his own stopped him from giving up during those long, dark hours, when each step became a struggle and Aragorn's heavy body threatened to slip from his grasp more than once. The ranger had fallen silent some time ago, and Legolas was more dragging and carrying his friend than supporting him by now.

From time to time the elf had to stop to catch his breath and check on his friend. Aragorn was barely conscious and his face and body were hot from fever. Legolas would only make sure that his friend's state had not worsened considerably and perhaps try to coax some water into him before he started walking again. He did not dare sit down, even for a short rest, knowing that he would not be able to get both him and Aragorn to their feet again. Whenever the elf had some breath left he whispered words of comfort and encouragement to his friend, hoping that the ranger was not too far gone to hear them.

Finally, some time deep into the night, Legolas fell silent, too. He was moving in a haze now, just aware enough to have a vague sense of where they were going, tensing whenever a faraway sound reached his ears, however harmless its cause might prove to be. Aragorn was still trying to take stumbling steps alongside him, and Legolas was deeply grateful for these small signs of life. He needed the human's comforting presence just as much as Aragorn needed his support to keep him going.

Aragorn's movements had steadily grown weaker during the night, and Legolas had slowed down even more. The human's breathing had become laboured, and he was shivering again. Legolas' own heartbeat seemed to be unnaturally loud and resounded in his aching head, accompanied by the painful throbbing of the wound in his arm.

It was nearly early morning now, though the darkness under the trees was not yet fading. When Legolas stumbled slightly across a small tree root he had failed to notice in time, Aragorn suddenly collapsed against him. The elf, who had been half asleep on his feet, was taken completely by surprise, and they both went down in a heap. Instinctively, Legolas held on to his friend tightly, and so the elf hit the ground hard while the human landed upon him. Legolas moaned softly, and for a moment he stayed down, dazed.

Then he became aware of the motionless weight on him, and fear compelled him to move. He fought his way to his knees, pulling the human close and cradling him on his lap. To his great relief Aragorn was still breathing, and the fever had not risen again, but one look into the man's face told him that the ranger was completely exhausted. He did not even try to wake him, knowing that it would be no use and that right now Aragorn had no strength left to rise again. It was a small miracle that the human had been able to move on for so long without rest.

Legolas just sat there for a while, his head bowed, holding Aragorn in his arms. Now that he had finally given in to his exhaustion, the ranger's breathing was easier. Legolas listened to it and studied his friend's pale face, relieved that the human still seemed to be holding his ground against the poison. The elf felt bone-tired, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to simply drop down beside his friend and stay there. But his deep fear for his friend and the knowledge that the orcs were still too near for comfort and moving much faster than they could did not let him rest.

He looked down at his friend for a moment longer, as if trying to draw strength from his presence. Then he slowly manoeuvred the ranger into a sitting position, bent forward, and pulled the limp body over his own shoulders. His bruised body protested painfully, but Legolas grit his teeth and shifted his friend's body until he had a firm grip on him. Then he forced himself to stagger to his feet. For an instant he thought his knees would buckle under him, and he had to lean heavily against a tree to keep his balance, but then his body slowly adapted to the added weight.

Ignoring the pain, the discomfort, and the shaking of his legs, Legolas went on, reminding himself with each step that Aragorn needed help as soon as possible and that they both were still in deadly danger. He did not know how long he walked like that. Time and the world around him became a blur, and his entire being seemed to be wrapped in a dull, steady pain, but there was a firm determination inside of him that made him move on in spite of the weariness and his aching body.

Finally, even his determination was not enough any longer and he broke to his knees. Two times he managed to rise again, but the third time he had to give in and stay down, panting. As gently as possible he let Aragorn slip from his shoulders to the ground. The elf's shoulders were cramped and hurt all over and he slumped a bit, resting beside his friend until he had caught his breath. This time, he knew he would not be able to go on, but he also did not have the strength to build a flet where they would be safe while they were both resting.

With the help of a tree trunk he managed to slowly get to his feet again and look around consciously for the first time. Using the trees as support and listening to their voices in his mind, he began to move away from his oblivious friend, but never so far that he lost the ranger out of his sight. Soon he found what he was looking for. He made his way back to his friend and dropped down on his knees beside him. This time, he put one of the ranger's arms over his shoulders and laid one arm around his friend's waist again.

Staggering to his feet once more, he half-dragged, half-carried the unconscious man towards the place that would have to be both shelter and hiding-place until they were able to move on again. Legolas went to his knees two more times before he finally had Aragorn where he wanted to have him. The elf did not allow himself to rest yet, knowing that he would not be able to rouse himself again if he did so. He made sure that Aragorn rested as comfortably as he could make him, and then he treated the ranger's wound again.

Afterwards, he tore a strip out of his own blanket, put some water on it, and used it to cool Aragorn's face, hoping that it would bring the man some relief from the fever. The elf was swaying with weariness by now. He wetted the fabric with water once more and laid it on the man's brow. Then everything went black and he knew no more.

_To be continued…_

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_(eyes collapsed elf and sick ranger) Well, I guess their lucky streak is over. (smiles sweetly)_


	6. Rest

_**Author's Note:**__ I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reading this story or placed it (or me) on her/his fav list so far, and especially to those who have reviewed it – I love hearing your thoughts and comments, ramblings, feelings, and threats. ((big hug)) _

_Mrs. Staffel, I'm glad you're still enjoying my story._

_Here's the next chapter for you. Feedback is very welcome. :)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I don't own them, but I wish I could keep them. (g)_

* * *

**Chapter Six: Rest**

"_Friendship is a sheltering tree."  
_Samuel Coleridge

When Aragorn awoke the first thing he noticed was that he lay on something soft. It was pleasantly cool around him, and nearby he could hear the soft, gurgling sound of running water. The air was fresh and smelled of rain and spring. He felt much better than the last time he remembered. The fever seemed to have lessened, and the poison-induced sickness had settled down deep in his bones now, making his whole body ache, but not as bad as before. Aragorn was well aware that his illness had only entered a new stage, which would probably turn out to be worse than all he had gone through before, but for the moment all he felt was relief.

He tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten here, but his last memories were of stumbling through the darkness, of a strong arm around his waist that held him upright and a familiar voice whispering to him in the Grey Tongue, either soothing or encouraging him. Legolas! Aragorn opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of green leaves not too far above his head. He turned his head slightly and realized that he was lying on solid ground near the trunk of a mighty tree. The branches of the tree were hanging so low that they touched the ground, hiding everything beneath them from hostile eyes.

The branches were so entwined and the foliage so dense that it looked like a green curtain all around him, and the ground beneath him was covered with soft moss. It was a place which only a wood-elf could find, and for a fleeting moment Aragorn wondered if the branches would still hang so low when they did not have to shelter a wood-elf and his friend. That thought turned his attention immediately back to Legolas and the question of how he had gotten here. He was quite sure that he had lost consciousness some time during the night, and now most of the day seemed to already be gone. Why were they not moving? And where was Legolas?

Aragorn had expected to hear his friend's voice greeting him any moment now, but apart from the gurgling sound of the water all was silent. He turned his head in the other direction, and something light that had rested on his brow so far slid down and blocked his sight. He grabbed the thing and took it off his eyes. He found himself looking at a piece of fabric that seemed to stem from one of their blankets and was slightly damp. Legolas had been here, and he had obviously taken care of him as best he could. Looking down on himself, Aragorn noticed that he was covered with a blanket and he was sure that his wound had been looked after, too.

Feeling increasingly worried about his friend's silence and the fact that they were still here in broad daytime, Aragorn turned around and rose on one elbow. This time he spotted the elf immediately. Legolas was lying on the ground not far from him, curled up on his side, facing the ranger. Between them some bandages and herbs and the water flask lay scattered on the ground. The water flask had toppled over. The top had not been put back on it and part of the water had leaked out, turning the earth below into mud and scattering glittering water drops on the moss.

Aragorn's relief upon seeing his friend changed quickly into concern. It looked very much like Legolas had collapsed while caring for him, just as he had done on the first day after the ranger had freed him from the orc-camp. But what was worse was that the elf did not look any better than he had done back then. Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of his friend. Legolas' eyes were tightly closed and there were dark shadows under them that had not been there before. The bruises looked as painful and dark as on the first day, showing clearly that the elf was not healing as he should.

Legolas had used neither his blanket nor his cloak to make himself more comfortable, and his head rested in an awkward position, half on a tree root. He must have been completely exhausted not to realize the discomfort that this position undoubtedly caused, and he was still fast asleep without even realizing that Aragorn was awake. Suddenly Aragorn wondered when exactly he had fainted away and how long Legolas had moved on afterwards. Had the elf tried to carry him? No, not tried… Had he done so?

The ranger winced inwardly as he imagined how Legolas' injuries must have reacted to the weight of a grown human pressing down on them. And the elf had been weary already after their encounter with the orcs. Aragorn had been worried about his friend's sudden weakness back then, but he had not been sure whether it was more due to the reawakened memories than to any injuries, so he had stayed silent.

The ranger frowned as he noticed how Legolas cradled his injured left arm with his right hand, holding it close to his chest even in sleep. Looking at the elf's face once more, he saw that Legolas' features were slightly tensed and marred by fine lines of pain and fatigue. He began to ask himself whether Legolas' injuries had been tended to at all after he had treated them on the first day. He had not been able to do so again and Legolas had probably neither had the time, nor even thought about it.

Aragorn sat up, turned back the blanket, and moved closer to his friend. He quickly picked up the various healing utensils, righted the water flask, put the top back on it, and put all of it aside to have it out of the way but still nearby if he needed it again. The ranger gently put his hands under the elf's body and shifted his friend slightly, so that the elf's head came to rest on the moss instead of the tree root, then he took the folded cloak that Legolas had shoved under his head, lifted his friend's head, and put the cloak under it. Legolas did not stir once, and Aragorn felt even more alarmed by that.

He gently took hold of his friend's wounded arm, noticing with concern how hot the arm was under his hand. Though he took care not to touch the wound, Legolas moaned and tried to pull his arm back. The elf's eyes blinked open drowsily, and for a moment he only stared at Aragorn in confusion, before he slowly seemed to understand what was happening around him. He raised his head, as if starting to sit up, but the ranger gently pressed him down again.

"Just relax," he said softly, "and let me look after this wound."

There was something like resignation in Legolas' eyes, but he obeyed wordlessly and settled back down. The elf's arm relaxed in Aragorn's grasp. The ranger quickly untied the bandage and revealed the injury. The wound, which should have shown signs of healing by now, had taken on an angry red colour. Red lines were spreading from the inflamed wound over the rest of Legolas' forearm. Aragorn stared at the arm for a moment, frozen with shock. He had suspected that something was wrong, but never that it was that bad.

He raised his head and looked at Legolas, who was watching him silently. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, disbelief in his voice. "You knew that this wound was poisoned, didn't you?"

"You could not have done anything," Legolas answered softly, his voice weak and resigned. "I have only known it since we encountered the orcs yesterday. My arm hurt more than it should, and I suddenly understood why the orc leader forced that potion into me."

Aragorn needed a moment to come to terms with what he had just learned. "I see," he said then, a bit calmer than before. "But even when I cannot do anything to help I still want to know when something ails you, Legolas."

The elf looked back at him, his face unreadable again. "So do I," he said quietly.

Aragorn felt confused by the elf's reaction, until he remembered that he had tried to hide the same kind of wound from his friend. He sighed. "Just don't do this again," he asked softly. "You scared me."

"There is no need for worry," Legolas tried to reassure him. "The antidote stopped the spreading of the poison for a while, and being an elf it seems to work slower on me than on you anyway. I can feel the poison in my veins, but I do not think I will start feeling truly sick before tomorrow. So far, it has only weakened me and caused the wound to hurt more than it should."

Aragorn could tell from the look in his friend's eyes that the elf was being honest with him now. "How do you feel?" he asked, still not able to let go of his concern and worried at the thought that Legolas would feel as sick tomorrow as he had felt all the time during the last day and night.

"Tired," Legolas answered only.

Aragorn thought this quite an understatement. He could see clearly that Legolas had to fight to even keep his eyes open. Once again, he wondered what had happened during the night. How long had the elf dragged or carried him? Had he stopped at dawn, or had he gone on even then? Aragorn was inclined to believe the latter, seeing the state Legolas was in and the already late hour. The ranger did not ask – he knew that Legolas had only done what needed to be done.

Instead, he nodded in answer to Legolas' words and directed his attention back to the elf's arm. When he started to gently clean the wound, he suddenly met resistance. The pain of his touch, as light as it had been, had brought Legolas to full awareness once more, and he struggled to sit up and pull his arm away.

"You should not do this, Estel," he protested weakly. "You are much too sick to care for me. I will be fine, and you should be resting…"

Aragorn hushed his anxious friend and pressed him down again. "I feel much better, Legolas. Something in me feels different." He hesitated for a moment, but then he decided to be as honest as the elf had been with him. "I think the poison is probably about to enter its final stage. I do not know how soon it will become active again, but for the moment I feel truly well, and I have rested enough. Let me treat your injuries as long as I still can. You will need your strength, mellon-nîn. It will have to be enough for both of us."

Aragorn could clearly see that Legolas did not like his reasoning, but the elf seemed to realize that it made sense and he was obviously too worn out to argue for long.

"Promise me to stop and rest when you feel sick again," the elf said softly, seeking his friend's eyes.

"I promise," Aragorn answered, holding his gaze. When he took hold of Legolas' arm again, the elf did not resist. The ranger cleaned, treated, and dressed the wound as gently as possible, but he could still feel Legolas tense whenever he touched it, though the elf made no sound. When he was done, and laid the arm carefully back down, he found Legolas watching him out of tired, half-lidded eyes. Aragorn suppressed a smile. It was obvious that the elf was losing his battle against sleep.

"Legolas?" he asked, and his friend's eyes blinked open again. "I need this tunic off of you."

Legolas looked very much as if he wanted to protest again. "Aragorn, this is not necess-" he began, and stopped abruptly when he saw his friend's determined gaze.

Sighing, he tried once more to sit up, but this time Aragorn put an arm around him and helped the tired elf into a sitting position. Legolas divested himself slowly and obviously painfully of his tunic, and again Aragorn assisted his friend. When the tunic was finally off, Aragorn paled. The bruises on Legolas' shoulders looked fresh, angry, and painful, and some of the welts, cuts, and abrasions on his upper body, especially on his shoulders and back, had opened again and bled anew.

He did not need to ask himself if Legolas had carried him anymore, and now he was quite sure that the elf had walked through at least half of the day as well. No wonder that his friend was so drained. Legolas did not look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on his knees instead. His shoulders were slumped and his hands rested in his lap, his right hand holding his left arm. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said into the silence that had fallen between them. "I am sorry that I had to be such a burden for you."

At that, Legolas raised his head and looked at him. "You are no more a burden to me than I am to you," he said decisively. "You should know that, Estel. You could not help being poisoned and falling unconscious. You will never be a burden to me. In fact, it was you who gave me the strength to go on in spite of my weariness."

Aragorn sighed again, knowing that the elf was right and he could do nothing against his body's weakness. But it was still difficult for him to see the aggravated wounds and bruises on the elf's already damaged skin and know that he was, in a way, responsible for this. Still, his friend's words comforted him and he shoved his useless feelings of guilt aside. Instead, he began to do what he had intended to do, namely, take care of Legolas' injuries.

He did his best to soothe the bruised skin and treat the other wounds, starting with those that he could only reach while Legolas was sitting upright. After he had finished there, he allowed Legolas to lie down again, and continued his treatment. The elf's eyelids soon began to droop once more, and as the pain started to fade under his friend's gentle ministrations his body relaxed gradually and he finally fell asleep.

When Aragorn had done all he could, he did not bother waking the elf again but covered him with the blanket instead. Legolas could don his discarded tunic when he woke up again, and Aragorn had every intention of waiting until the elf woke on his own. He settled down right next to his sleeping friend, the tree trunk at his back, and put one hand lightly on Legolas' shoulder, both to know when the elf stirred and in an attempt to protect him from any nightmares that might want to haunt his sleep.

He watched the green leaves around them sway in a light breeze and listened to the joyful gurgling of the brook, while he patiently prepared himself for a wait that might very well be long.

----------

It was already some hours into the night when Legolas finally stirred again. Aragorn had been dozing lightly, but came instantly aware again when he felt his friend move under his hand. For a moment he listened, not sure if Legolas was dreaming or really waking up. The question was answered when Legolas raised his head and then sat up slowly.

"Estel?" the elf asked, and his voice sounded still a bit sleep-muddled. "You should have woken me."

Aragorn had allowed his hand to slide down from his friend's shoulder, but he could feel Legolas at his side. Knowing that the elf would be able to see him quite well, he shook his head. "You needed that sleep," he said simply.

Legolas did not comment on that, perhaps conceding his point, and Aragorn felt the elf's gaze rest upon him. "Did you stay awake the entire time?" Legolas asked, both gratefulness and concern in his voice. "How do you feel?"

"I was not really tired," Aragorn answered truthfully. He hesitated for a moment, then he added, "I am feeling sick again."

Legolas shifted slightly, moving over to lean against the tree trunk beside his friend. He had heard the apprehension in the man's voice. They both remembered what Legolas had said about the last stage of the poisoning.

"Whenever I treated your wound," Legolas said slowly and thoughtfully, "I could not only feel the darkness of the poison, but also the lingering presence of the athelas. It could not cure the poison, but I think the athelas alleviates its effects."

Aragorn felt Legolas' hand lightly cover his own. "It is not your fate to perish in this dark forest," the elf added softly. "I cannot believe that."

Aragorn took Legolas' hand in his and squeezed it gratefully. The elf's words comforted him. He had had to face death before, but the prospect of dying slowly and in agony from an orc poison still frightened him. As Legolas had felt his apprehension, the ranger could sense the elf's own fear of having to endure his friend's death once more, of falling into the orcs' hands again.

"How do _you_ feel?" Aragorn asked the elf gently.

"Much better, thanks to you," Legolas answered, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

Aragorn would have liked to be able to see his friend's face. The ranger felt a stab of regret, knowing that Legolas would have to fend for both of them again soon. He wished he could be a better help for his friend, but the poison did not allow it. Aragorn took his friend's hand in both of his, looking where he knew his friend's face to be.

"I want you to promise me something," he said quietly.

"What?" Legolas asked.

"I want you to promise me that you will not give up, whatever happens to me," Aragorn said seriously. He knew the poison would not leave him much time, but it was different with Legolas. Even if the ranger himself succumbed to the poison, Legolas would still have a chance to escape and find help in time, thanks to the potion. Aragorn could not bear the thought that the elf would fall into the hands of his enemies again because he gave in to his grief and despair.

"I cannot promise you that, Estel," Legolas whispered, pain in his voice.

Again Aragorn wished to be able to see his friend's eyes. "Legolas…"

"For you and my father, I will try," the elf interrupted him. "But let us talk about this no more. I cannot bear it now."

Heeding the elf's wishes and knowing that he could not ask more of him, Aragorn stayed silent. They shared a small meal, and the difficulties he had of finding anything in the dark made Aragorn realize once more how much he disliked the pitch-black Mirkwood nights. In the beginning of his friendship with Legolas, spending a night here had made him feel claustrophobic, but now he was well used to it, though he still did not like it. It reminded him once again how long the way was they had come together.

His nostalgic memories came to an abrupt end when he accidentally dropped his piece of waybread. Stifling a curse, he groped around in the darkness, until fingers captured his wrist and the waybread was pressed back into his hand.

"I will never understand why the trees can't let at least a little bit of light through," he complained a bit grumpily.

"You should know by now that the darkness has only been added to annoy visiting humans," Legolas replied, and Aragorn could easily hear the smile in his voice.

It lightened his mood considerably. Legolas had rarely smiled these last days, and Aragorn had started to miss his friend's humour and love of life. He was willing to put up even with a Mirkwood night if it made his friend smile again. For a short precious while they did not think of the future, but only enjoyed each other's company. Then Legolas packed what little was left of their food back into the bag and helped his friend to his feet. With some regret they left their comfortable shelter behind, the elf supporting the ranger once more.

Outside, Legolas stopped and stood still for a moment, listening to the wind and the trees. "What is it?" Aragorn asked so softly that only Legolas would be able to hear his words.

"A storm is coming," Legolas answered absent-mindedly. "It will be upon us soon."

Aragorn sighed. "Just what we need," he commented, but was at the same time relieved that it was a storm, and not the orcs.

"We should be able to reach the Elf Path tomorrow," Legolas remarked. "We can only hope that we will find one of our patrols there soon, or that the horses are still around somewhere."

Aragorn nodded. Legolas tightened his grip around his friend, and they set off again, walking slowly through the darkness.

_To be continued…_

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_I hope you're all feeling rested and relaxed now. (g) I thought both characters and readers really deserved some R & R. Well, of course there is the little problem of the storm coming up, but I'm sure it won't be too bad. ;-)_


	7. The Storm

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you to everyone who took the time to review my last chapter, I really appreciate it! ((hugs)) Here is the next chapter, it will take us right into the storm. I hope you'll enjoy it! Feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome. :)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. Even the black squirrels belong to Tolkien. (sigh)_

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**Chapter Seven: The Storm**

"_Give me a few friends  
who will love me for what I am,  
and keep ever burning  
before my vagrant steps  
the kindly light of hope..."  
_Irish Prayer

Though he tried not to, Aragorn soon found himself leaning heavily on his friend again. The elf neither winced nor tensed, though Aragorn knew that the pressure on his friend's shoulders must cause him pain. The ranger gritted his teeth and tried to will his weakened legs to carry at least part of his weight. He felt both sick and nauseated again, and the movement did not make it any better.

The wind was getting stronger and soon started to howl above them. The leaves rustled, and the branches and trunks creaked and moaned around them. Legolas walked on steadily, seemingly unfazed by the noises and the wind. It was different for the human, who could only listen to the strange noises and the howling in the darkness, trying not to flinch when there was an especially loud crack near them. Before long, Legolas felt Aragorn shiver against him and came to a sudden stop, ignoring everything around them for the moment.

"Estel? Are you alright?" he asked urgently, and loud enough to be heard through the noises of the storm around them.

"Yes, I am," Aragorn hastened to assure his worried friend. "It is just… I have never liked to be out in a forest during a storm, especially not in a dark night."

Normally he had those feelings well under control, but combined with the poison and the darkness it was too much. Aragorn was aware that his instinctive reaction to storms was still caused by the experiences of a two-year-old boy, who had seen his parents and many rangers slaughtered during such a storm in a dark forest. (1) He had never been able to completely shed the deeply ingrained feeling of threat whenever he was in a situation like that again. Legolas was aware of that, too, but given their present situation the ranger doubted his friend had expected him to be afraid of a storm of all things.

Legolas seemed to weigh his words for a moment, but then Aragorn could feel the elf relax slightly. "I always liked storms," Legolas said softly, and Aragorn had to strain to hear him. "When I was an elfling, I would climb up high on the trees during a storm, and dream that the wind would carry me away and I could fly."

"It sounds just like you," Aragorn commented dryly, not sure whether he should smile or be horrified at the image of an elfling high up in the storm-lashed trees, trying to fly. "What did your father think about that?" Sickness and storm were forgotten for the moment, and he did not even realize that they were walking again.

"He knew that I was not likely to fall out of a tree and that the trees would not let me fall, but he was still worried."

Aragorn snorted.

"So he would climb up after me each time when I had managed to sneak away again, and make sure that I got back down safely," Legolas went on, ignoring the human.

Aragorn could not help smiling at the image of the dignified elven king climbing around in trees during a storm looking for his wayward elfling. Knowing how dearly Thranduil loved his son, that was just what the king would do. There was a slightly wistful undertone in Legolas' voice that made the ranger realize once more how terrified the prince must have been at the prospect of being used against his father by the shadow creatures of Dol Guldur. And how much he must still fear such a fate.

Wordlessly, Aragorn reached up until he touched the arm that was wrapped around his waist and gently squeezed the hand resting on his stomach, trying to convey both understanding and hope. He felt his friend's arm tighten around his waist for a moment, and knew the elf had understood. Strangely enough, Legolas' words had calmed the ranger. Just knowing that his friend did not fear the storm made him feel better.

Legolas was not easily scared by anything that belonged to nature, and Aragorn did not know a better place to be during a storm than at the side of a wood-elf. He hoped with all his heart that the orcs would be crushed by a falling tree, hit by lightning, or at least get hopelessly lost.

Thunder rolled through the sky above them, seeming to vibrate through the ground and the trees. Only moments later lightning flashed, and Aragorn could hear the sound of pelting rain on the leaves above them. The lightning even dimly illuminated the darkness under the trees, and for a moment he could see the dark trunks of the trees looming up about them, before everything was swallowed by darkness once more.

Legolas felt the human tense again under his supporting arm. "I promise you the storm will not harm us, Estel," he said into his friend's ear. "There is nothing to fear."

But Aragorn shook his head. From one moment to the next he had been hit by a bout of nausea, and he felt cold sweat on his skin. "It's not that," he managed to say. "I- I'm not feeling too well."

He stumbled, and nearly brought both of them down again. Legolas saw him hold his stomach, and suddenly he understood. Quickly, he lowered the human to his knees, and nearly immediately Aragorn started to retch. Legolas moved his arm from the human's waist to his chest, holding him as long as the nausea lasted. It was over soon, and Aragorn simply sat where he was for a while, trying to catch his breath and fighting against the dry heaves that came in the wake of the retching. Finally, Legolas felt the slightly trembling body calm down.

"Do you feel better?" the elf asked softly, his arm still around his friend's chest, supporting him.

Again Aragorn shook his head. "I'm feeling worse," he answered faintly.

Legolas closed his eyes, knowing that Aragorn would not be able to see it, and tried to fight down the fear for his friend that threatened to overwhelm him again.

"I can go on," Aragorn added, covering the elf's hand on his chest with one of his own.

"Are you sure?" Legolas asked, pressing the water flask into his friend's hand. "We can afford to rest a while longer."

Aragorn took a sip and used the water to rinse his mouth, before he spat it out again, then he handed the flask back to Legolas. He did not trust his stomach enough to even drink something. "Rest will not help me," he stated calmly. "Not any longer."

Lightning flashed again across the sky above them, and for a moment Aragorn could see the elf's pale, worried face beside him. "Then let us go," was the only answer.

Legolas' arm tightened around the human again, allowing Aragorn to lean on him while they both scrambled to their feet. Seconds later they were walking again. The lightning was followed by a clap of thunder, and Aragorn could not help wincing slightly. His head was throbbing again and the noise did not make him feel any better. From time to time stray drops of rain hit his face, but apart from that they were quite sheltered from the howling wind and the rain in the enclosed space beneath the trees.

Though it was also a bit scary, Aragorn was glad for the raging of nature around them. It distracted him from the pain in his bones, which slowly seemed to burn its way into the rest of his body. He felt still sick, but not feverish anymore. He was completely aware of his body and his surroundings. _The orcs wouldn't want their captives to miss anything of the pain and the agony the poison was made to cause in the end,_ it flashed through his mind. He remembered Legolas' face as he had told him of the effects of the poison, and he knew the death he had to expect would be cruel.

The prospect scared him, but he fought his fear down as well as he could. It helped that he believed Legolas to be right about the athelas. The effects of the poison on him should already have been much worse. Aragorn could only hope that the pain would be bearable as well. Actually, he worried even more about Legolas than about himself.

The elf was poisoned as well, but there was no athelas left to treat his wound with. If he did not reach safety before the poison reached its final and worst stage, he would die a terrible death. Aragorn refused even to think about the possibility that Legolas would fall into the hands of the orcs again, which would mean release from the poison, but only to face a fate that was even worse.

The ranger cursed the increasing weakness and pain in his body, which forced them to move slowly. He tried his best to keep moving and put not too much of his weight on his friend, but he knew it was a losing battle. The walk through the darkness, accompanied by lightning and thunder, felt like a strange dream.

Soon Aragorn lost all sense of time, and he had to struggle more and more to maintain control over his sick and hurting body. Each movement caused him pain, and his throbbing head made him feel dizzy and nauseated. Still he tried to cling to consciousness and his remaining strength with all the stubbornness he had.

Beside him Legolas was struggling, too. For the first time since he had received the wound on his arm he was starting to feel sick. In spite of the long rest he had taken he was already feeling weary again, and he knew that the poison was draining his strength. He could only hope that he would be able to remain strong long enough to get them both to safety, before the poison made him as sick as Aragorn had been the day before.

He tried to keep his attention on the wild, forceful song of nature around him, which revived his spirits and drowned out the dark whispers of the poison inside of him. Aragorn stumbled slightly and Legolas felt himself tense. He knew that his friend was in pain. He could see it in the ranger's eyes and face and feel it in the tense muscles under his supporting arm, though Aragorn did not say anything about it.

Using the only way he had left to distract his friend and help him cope with the pain, Legolas began to speak to him again, telling tales about his childhood and Mirkwood and Greenwood the Great or talking about their past adventures. Soon Aragorn couldn't help smiling and finally laughing, and to Legolas' relief he even answered or asked questions or protested when Legolas exaggerated parts of their adventures. The light conversation made both of them feel better, even as difficult as it was to maintain over the noise around them.

A long time later, they finally fell silent again, Legolas because he was too weary and his mind too hazy to go on, and Aragorn because he hurt too much and could not concentrate on much more than the pain anymore. As in the night before, Legolas had instinctively slowed down, feeling his friend's suffering. The elf's grip on the human was firm and he wished he was able to convey his strength and determination to his weakening friend. But all he could do was hold on to the stumbling ranger and speak words of encouragement, whenever he had the breath left to do so.

The thunderstorm was right over them now, and each roll of thunder was followed by dazzling bright light almost immediately. Aragorn kept his head down, not caring where they went and what their surroundings were any longer. Legolas listened intently to voices and sounds only he could hear, while his sharp eyes watched the trees around them and the ground in front of them. Suddenly, he changed the direction they were going and moved sharply to the left. Aragorn stumbled and looked up, confused.

In the next moment, lightning hit a tree only yards away from them and there was a cracking, splintering sound before one of the mighty branches came down and crashed to the ground, entirely too near to the spot where they would have been if Legolas had not changed direction. The elf could feel the human tremble beside him, and he tightened his hold on him slightly.

"It is well," Legolas said, trying to soothe his friend. "The trees warned me. Nothing will happen to us."

Aragorn calmed down slowly and sighed. He tore his gaze away from the smouldering branch, illuminated by lightning, and looked at his friend instead. For a moment he could see the elf's face clearly in the pale, flickering light from above. There were shadows under Legolas' eyes again and they were fever-bright. The poison was starting to take effect, and had probably done so for quite some time already. The sight sent a stab of fear through his heart.

Suddenly, the ranger knew that he somehow had to go on, in spite of the pain and the weariness that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. He could not allow Legolas to even try and carry him while he was sick and wounded, and he feared what the elf would do when he was no longer able to carry him. For his friend's sake he had to fight a while longer. Legolas still had a chance, and he would not take it from him.

"Estel?" Legolas asked worriedly, and Aragorn became aware that he had been staring silently at the elf for quite some time now.

The ranger smiled at his friend. "I am alright," he said. "I have just been – thinking."

"The lightning should strike more often," he added. "It is good to see something for a change."

The worry in Legolas' eyes did not abate, but he smiled back at his friend. "I am still astonished that you came back after your first visit," he said. "As I recall, this place was not much to your liking then."

Aragorn remembered that first visit only too well. He took one step forward, forcing Legolas to walk with him if he did not want the human to fall over. He tried his best not to show the pain that this simple movement caused him, concentrating on his memories instead. At the time that Legolas had mentioned he had still been Estel and much younger. In fact, he had been horrified by the forest. He had never seen a place of such darkness before and he had encountered his first Mirkwood spiders then.

But in truth, even then he had known that nothing would keep him from visiting again, be it spiders, darkness, or other unknown terrors that might lurk in the depths of this strange forest. Legolas lived here, after all, and after he had met and befriended the elf nothing could have kept him from his side for too long. Their friendship was one of the few things that had never changed over all this time.

"I guess you have to be a spider, a black squirrel, or a wood-elf to truly appreciate this forest," Aragorn replied.

They passed by the smouldering remains of the big branch and the human felt the heat which still emanated from it. Distracted by the poison that burned in his veins, he needed some time to realize that it took Legolas far too long to answer to his remark. Suddenly Aragorn felt the elf's muscles tense. Though Legolas did not speak or falter, the ranger knew that something was wrong.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked after some moments of silence, suspecting that there was something that Legolas did not want to tell him. "What is it?"

"The orcs," Legolas answered reluctantly. "They are behind us."

Aragorn closed his eyes. He understood why Legolas had not wanted to tell him. They could not move any faster. If the orcs found them, there would be no escape. "I hoped the storm would slow them down, or even force them into hiding," he said, traces of anger and disappointment in his voice. "How near are they?"

"I cannot tell," Legolas answered, his voice tense. "I was not able to cover up our tracks last night. They must have found them, and followed them. The storm probably saved us. Part of the tracks will be gone now and hopefully their progress will be hindered. But they know where we were now and where we are heading."

He did not say more, knowing that Aragorn would understand. The orcs were faster, behind them, and heading in their direction. Even if the storm distracted the orcs enough to miss their prey now, their luck would run out soon. Their only hope was to reach the Elf Path and somehow find a patrol before the orcs found them. Provided both of them could stay alive and on their feet until then.

Legolas did not look at the ranger or say anything else, but he did not need to. Aragorn knew what the proximity of the orcs did to his friend. The elf's grip around the human's waist had tightened unconsciously and his muscles were still tensed, as if he expected an attack any moment now. Aragorn straightened as much as he was able to, forcing his hurting body to obey.

"We have to move faster," he said.

For a moment Legolas said nothing, but Aragorn could feel his gaze on him. "You cannot move faster, Estel," Legolas answered finally, softly. "And even if you could, I would not allow you to."

"Legolas -"

"There will be no argument about this," the elf cut him short. "We still have a chance as long as we can move. I will not waste your strength, or mine."

Aragorn sighed. He was in no real position for arguing and however dire their situation was, Legolas was obviously not about to allow anything that would further endanger the human's life. The ranger did not hold much hope for himself any longer. He was too much of a healer not to notice that his body was failing fast. But he knew that Legolas would never accept that, so he stayed silent and tried to move on as best he could.

"A black squirrel," Legolas' voice broke through the human's dark thoughts.

"What?"

"I do not think you would make a convincing spider or wood-elf," Legolas explained. "So, if you want to enjoy your visits in the future, you will have to be more like a black squirrel."

"Legolas -" Aragorn began for the second time and broke off, too stunned for a moment to say anything else. "I cannot believe you compare me to a black squirrel!"

"Would you prefer to be a spider?"

Aragorn would have elbowed his friend if he had been able to do so. Instead, he could only shake his head and try to stifle a chuckle. "Why not a wood-elf?"

"I cannot really see you talking to trees," Legolas answered, as if he was giving serious thought to the matter, "and you would have to stop smoking."

Aragorn murmured something about no one in his right mind wanting to be a wood-elf anyway, and Legolas laughed. The ranger smiled to himself. He knew that Legolas was merely trying to lighten his black mood, but he had missed his friend's merry nature, and as strange a place and time for merriment as this seemed to be, it was perhaps the last time he would hear the elf's laugh, and he cherished it.

"I still protest the black squirrel," he said after a moment, drawing another soft laugh from his friend.

Both of them fell silent again soon. Moving was too much of a challenge to leave room or strength for anything else. Aragorn quietly covered the elf's hand with his own, and let it rest there. After a while, Legolas relaxed a bit and his hold around the human's waist grew less tight. The thunderstorm slowly moved on, but they could still hear the rain on the leaves above them.

_To be continued…_

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Footnotes:

(1) In the series this story belongs to both Gilraen and Arathorn were killed when Aragorn was about two years old. Gilraen's death is, of course, AU. During his entire childhood Aragorn suffered from nightmares about the night his parents were killed. Later on those nightmares would resurface whenever there was a storm at night. Since Legolas has known Aragorn from early childhood on, he is well aware of both the nightmares and the reason for them.

For those who haven't read my other stories and want to know more: glimpses into Aragorn's childhood and the beginnings of his friendship with Legolas are provided in my "Dawn of Friendship"-collection, and the storm-related nightmares first appeared in the story "Bad Dreams", posted as chapter 5 in "Facets of Friendship". It is not necessary to read any of those stories to understand what's going on in this one.

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_It seems the storm was more helpful than harmful after all. :) Btw, I believe Aragorn would make a wonderful black squirrel, but don't tell him I said that. ;-)_


	8. Grief

_**Author's Note:**__ I want to give a big thank you to all of you who reviewed my last chapter, I'm really grateful for everyone who's letting me know she/he's out there and enjoying my story:) From this chapter on, things are going to get intense – you might want to keep chocolate, tissues, and the number of your cliffhanger support group handy. ;-) I will post appropriate warnings when necessary. Reviews would make me very happy!:D_

_**Warning**__: This chapter has a tissue alert. I mean it._

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I still don't own them and I bet they're quite happy about that right now. ;-)_

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**Chapter Eight: Grief**

"_A true friend is someone  
who will know your name in heaven."  
_Patricia Pasquariello

During the next hours Legolas listened closely to the voices of the trees and to any other sound in the darkness, while he tried to pierce the shadows around them with his eyes, searching for any sign of their pursuers. Sometimes the orcs came nearer, then they moved away again, but they were never far now. Legolas knew that neither he nor Aragorn had the strength or the time left to go the long way around, so he simply moved on without changing direction, trying to keep the distance between them and the orcs.

He never told Aragorn anything about it, knowing that the human needed all his strength and concentration now to simply keep moving. What frightened the elf more than the orcs was that he could feel his friend losing his fight. The human had slumped against him as he had in the night before and his weight rested heavily on the elf. The ranger was still conscious and moving his legs, but his face was terribly pale and marked by pain. It was obvious that each movement had become agony for the man.

Legolas wished that he was able to carry his friend again, but he was in no condition to do so anymore. He could do no more than keep both of them upright and walking in the right direction. His strength was drained and he felt very much like a sick human now. His body was hot with fever and he felt increasingly dizzy. Dawn came, but neither Legolas nor Aragorn took much notice of it. The darkness around them changed into a grey twilight again, and the rain stopped.

Aragorn was more stumbling than walking, but he still did not give in and Legolas held on to him tightly. Legolas knew that the Elf Path was not far away now. They could reach it today, if they only managed to stay on their feet and keep moving. The elf clung to that thought, not allowing himself to dwell on anything beyond it. He could not remember any time in his life when he had ever felt so tired and sick before, but the fear for his friend and the knowledge of what would happen to his father and his realm if he allowed himself to be taken drove him on, as they had done last night.

"Hold on," he whispered to Aragorn whenever the human stumbled, not sure whether he was talking to his friend or to himself. "It is not far now. Just hold on a while longer…"

And Aragorn did, seemingly taking strength from his friend's voice. Some time later Legolas noticed a movement in front of them. Looking closer, he saw something that made him wonder whether his feverish mind was hallucinating. On a sturdy branch right in front of them sat a black squirrel. It was sniffing the air nervously, its bushy black tail held nearly horizontally behind it. Legolas stopped and squeezed his friend's hand to get his attention. Aragorn raised his head slowly, and the exhaustion and pain in his friend's eyes made the elf's heart ache. But the man smiled when he saw what had caused their stop.

"I hope… you do not expect me… to follow it," he said weakly.

"Not today," Legolas answered, worried by the weakness in the human's voice and at the same time relieved that there were still some traces of humour left in his friend. The squirrel gave him hope. It was the first animal he had seen for six days now. He took it as a sign that they were close to the safer part of the forest.

He stared at the squirrel for a moment longer, and suddenly he found himself swaying. Quickly he straightened, realizing that they had to go on before one or both of them were dragged down by their weakness and the poison. He forced himself to start walking again, and Aragorn fell in step beside him as best he could. The squirrel turned around and vanished into the thick foliage of the tree above.

The hours of the morning seemed to go on endlessly while they were walking and stumbling through the dark forest. Sometimes Legolas found himself drifting off into a fever dream, and sometimes he was not sure what was reality and what a feverish dream. Distorted memories haunted him in these strange waking dreams, leaving him shuddering and cold, though his skin burned. He fought to remain awake and remember where he was and with whom, but quite often he lost the fight and jerked awake again moments later. He wondered whether Aragorn had gone through the same last night.

When the elf woke with a start from a particularly nasty dream, which had been partly a dream and partly a memory, he found that they had come to a stop and that Aragorn was looking at him with deep concern, though he seemed to be only half-conscious himself. Legolas' head was pounding and he took a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself. The orcs he had seen one moment ago were gone now, replaced by silent, unmoving trees.

For a long moment he was not sure what was real and what not, but the sight before him did not change and Aragorn touched his arm, trying to get his attention. Legolas turned his head and met the gaze of pain-darkened eyes.

"The poison," Aragorn said faintly. "It causes… dark dreams. Not… real…"

Legolas fever-muddled thoughts finally cleared, and he nodded to show the human that he understood. "Thank you," he answered. "How did you get through this last night?"

Aragorn smiled at him. "You were… talking to me," he said simply.

Legolas looked at the human's pale, worn-out face and he suddenly remembered why he had to go on in spite of the fever and the soreness and the tiredness. He had to save Aragorn. Estel had to survive, somehow. What he saw in the man's eyes reminded him that the time was running out. He nodded again, warmth in his eyes. Then he forced his weary body to move again, half-supporting, half-dragging the human beside him.

It was nearly noon when the weight that pressed against the elf's shoulder suddenly became heavier. Aragorn missed several steps and Legolas had to drag him for some moments, staggering under the added weight. The elf slowed down even more, hoping that his friend would recover enough to take at least small steps. The ranger was barely able to move now, but he still fought. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief when the human took first one step, and then the next, and they were able to move on slowly once again.

The elf barely felt the added weight against his bruised shoulder, the pain had become too familiar by now. Dark illusions still haunted him, but he was so focused on his friend and his task that he barely noticed them. The trees had not warned him for some time now, and he could only hope that the orcs had lost their trail for the moment. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground in front of them and his thoughts on their destination.

Legolas did not dare look at Aragorn, knowing that the human's face was deadly pale by now and not able to bear the pain in the man's eyes. Instead, he held his friend close, taking comfort from the weak movements of the body beside him. The fear for Aragorn had turned the elf's stomach into a solid knot and he hated his own inability to do anything for his friend. It was the second time in less than a week that he felt completely helpless. The only good thing was that his fear for Aragorn distracted him from his own sick body.

Sometimes he started to count their steps to force himself to stay awake, but most of the time the awareness of the dying human at his side was enough to keep him going. The ground under their feet had become increasingly muddy, making walking even more strenuous and difficult. Legolas could only pray and hope that they would get through this morass soon, before Aragorn's remaining strength or his own gave way.

A short distance ahead of them Legolas spotted the reason for the wet and muddy ground. One of the mighty trees had apparently been struck by lightning some time during the night and had fallen, leaving a large gap in the tightly woven canopy of leaves and branches through which the sky could be seen and the rain had been able to pour down unhindered and soak the ground. The charred and burnt remains of the tree trunk that were still standing pointed towards the sky like the thin, blackened fingers of an outstretched hand.

Legolas altered their direction slightly to avoid having to climb over the fallen tree. With each step his feet sank deeply into the muddy ground and it cost strength to get them out again. Aragorn was not able to lift his feet over the mud at all and Legolas settled for simply dragging his friend along, hoping that the mud was liquid enough to cover the clear traces they left behind.

When they reached the fallen tree, Legolas raised his head and looked up into the sky, enjoying the vastness and the clear view. Light streamed in through the gap, driving the familiar twilight of the dark forest away. Suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds, and the light turned dazzling. The spring foliage seemed to shine in bright green and golden colours where the sun touched it. Legolas could not help smiling when he heard the joyful song of the trees around him. If they had been able to, the trees would have moved to bathe in the sunlight.

The elf felt a movement at his side and noticed that Aragorn was looking up, too, his face more relaxed than Legolas had seen it for a long time. The elf nearly regretted that they had to move on and enter the twilight world of the forest again when he saw the quiet joy in his friend's face. Still, they could not afford to linger or lose any time now, so he kept moving. Only moments later the clouds closed again and the bright sunlight vanished behind them, leaving a grey and strangely dull world behind.

Legolas stifled a sigh. The gap over their heads gave way to intertwined foliage and again they were shrouded in twilight. At least the mud vanished, too, and the ground under their feet became solid again. Legolas was glad about it. His legs were shaking slightly from the exertion, and the pounding of his head calmed down in harmony with his heartbeat. He knew that the Elf Path was near now, perhaps one or two more hours away.

The elf found himself wishing for the wind that had blown during the night. He was uncomfortably hot and cold sweat clung to his forehead. The air around them seemed to be sultry and oppressive. He was not sure if it was due to the fever that burned inside him, or the humid air. Aragorn had started trembling at his side. The human's head was bowed, and his face hidden behind strands of dark hair.

The elf forced himself to look straight ahead and to only think of their destination, drawing his thoughts away from the state of his friend and the nagging, cold fear inside of him. The trees were growing more densely now and Legolas was hard-pressed to find a way that was free of winding roots. He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally stumbled onto a small clearing. The trees here were too tall and the clearing too small to provide more light, but for a short while there were no roots that could trip them.

In the middle of the clearing Aragorn stopped moving. Legolas staggered, but managed to catch himself before he could lose his balance and drag them both to the ground. Turning his head, he saw that Aragorn was looking at him. Various emotions swirled in the dark grey eyes, emotions that Legolas did not want to see there.

"I cannot… go on, Legolas," the human said softly, his breath wheezing slightly. "I am sorry… my friend."

Legolas shook his head in mute denial. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. "Don't…" he said and trailed off, his eyes pleading with his friend.

There was deep regret in Aragorn's eyes, and a pain that had nothing to do with his body. "I'm sorry…" he repeated.

His strength spent, he collapsed against his friend. Legolas tightened his hold instinctively, but found himself unable to support both their weight, and the limp body threatened to slip from his grasp. He staggered and broke to his knees, catching the human against his own body. He shifted his position slowly and carefully until he held his friend in his arms, unwilling to let go of him even for one moment.

The elf felt a wave of despair wash over him that he had not felt so strongly since he had been held captive by the orcs. Aragorn could not go on and he would not be able to carry him, not far enough. Legolas closed his eyes. In this moment he realized that they would never be able to make it. Suddenly the Elf Path was too far, and even if he had been able to drag Aragorn there, they would still need to find a patrol in time to save the human - a patrol that happened to have a well-supplied healer with it. He did not know now why he had ever believed that they still had a chance. The elf bowed his head in defeat. After all his friend had gone through for him he had not been able to save Aragorn. He had failed.

Suddenly there was no reason to move or fight any longer. Legolas remained kneeling, holding his unconscious friend, weighed down by hopelessness and a bone-deep exhaustion that finally caught up with him.

-----------

After a while, which could as well have been minutes as hours, Aragorn stirred again, rousing Legolas from his numbness and dark thoughts. The man opened his eyes, seeming to remember immediately where he was and what had happened to him. His gaze locked on Legolas', who was looking down at him in a mixture of sorrow and relief.

"How long…" he asked weakly, not even bothering to try and end the sentence.

Legolas blinked and shook his head slowly. "I do not know," he answered softly, almost indifferently.

Aragorn liked neither the words nor what he could see in his friend's fever-glazed eyes. In that moment he knew that Legolas had not moved since his collapse, and that he had no intention of doing so.

"Legolas… you have to leave!" the man said, hoping to sound as urgent as he felt in spite of the weakness of his voice.

Legolas looked back at him, not even trying to avoid his friend's gaze. "I cannot," he answered candidly. "Estel, I have known you for nearly your entire life, and you were my friend from the moment I first saw you. I could never leave you behind, especially not to die alone."

As much as the elf's unshakeable loyalty touched him, at the moment it also filled Aragorn with despair. He moved his hand until it came to rest over one of his friend's hands. The elf's skin was still too hot to the touch. "I can bear dying alone," the ranger began almost pleadingly, "but I cannot bear to endanger you. Please go!"

There was a hint of pain in Legolas' eyes that had nothing to do with the poison or the wounds to his body, but the elf shook his head slowly. "Do not ask this of me," he said. "I cannot go on without you. Not a second time."

"No, Legolas. You… have to… go!" Aragorn closed his eyes exhaustedly for a moment. "I… do not have the strength… to go on. It hurts… it hurts all over-"

Aragorn felt Legolas shift slightly, holding him even closer. The unnaturally warm fingers of the elf squeezed his own, and the man was grateful to have something else to concentrate on other than the pain.

"Do not listen to the pain," Legolas said to him, speaking directly into the man's ear. "Listen to my voice. I will not leave you."

For a moment, the words held nothing but comfort while the ranger was struggling not to drown in the waves of pain that closed over him. He shivered helplessly. It seemed to last an eternity until the pain finally subsided and became more bearable again. Unable to do anything else, Aragorn simply allowed Legolas to hold him and listened to his own laboured breathing.

He wanted nothing more than to give in to the pull of exhaustion and sink into dark, sweet oblivion once more, but the fear for his friend kept nagging at his consciousness and would not let him rest. "The orcs…" he finally managed to say. "They will… catch up with you… if you stay."

"Do you really think I will leave and allow them to kill you?" Legolas asked calmly.

Seeing the only-too-familiar determination in his friend's face, Aragorn knew that nothing he could say would ever change his friend's mind. He shook his head mutely, ignoring the pain that even the slight movement caused him. If only his death could make Legolas leave he wished he would die right now. "Legolas…" he trailed off helplessly.

"If I left now it would kill me just as surely as staying here," Legolas stated, wishing the ranger would stop wasting his waning strength on worrying for him. "I would only die in another place. Do not fear for me, my friend. I will not allow them to capture me again."

The mere thought of Legolas dying because he refused to leave him broke Aragorn's heart, but the ranger knew that he would not be able to fight off his exhaustion much longer. There was nothing he could do, and he did not know whether he would ever wake up again when he fell asleep now. He did not want their last moments together to be like this, though his friend's fate hurt more than all the pain raging through his own weakened body.

He managed something that he hoped would resemble a smile. "I wish… you would not be so… stubborn!"

"I never was before I met you," Legolas replied with a smile of his own. The smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. "I will not leave you before the end," the elf added. "I am sorry. I'm so sorry that I was not able to save you."

Aragorn would have laughed if he had still been strong enough to do so. "Foolish… elf," he managed to say. "_I_ was… supposed to… save _you_!"

He shivered again and fixed his gaze on the familiar face above him, wanting to take that sight and the warm, amused look in those blue eyes along with him wherever he would go next. If they had to part forever now, if there was nothing he could do to avoid it, he at least wanted to make sure that he would never forget. Before Legolas could start wondering at the intensity of his gaze, the ranger continued, "If anyone should feel sorry… it is me."

Legolas smiled at him, but Aragorn saw tears in his friend's eyes. "Foolish human," the elf whispered, affection in his eyes.

For a while they simply looked at each other, not really knowing what else to say. Words suddenly seemed useless, and they knew each other well enough to hear what was not spoken. Feeling that his time was running out, it was Aragorn who finally broke the silence. "Promise me… you will not allow them to catch you again," he breathed, trying to hide the desperate fear he still felt for his friend, whom he would soon have to leave.

"I promise," Legolas answered without hesitation, his voice unwavering though he knew that he could not really make such a promise, and though he felt as if something inside of him was breaking apart. Aragorn's fingers held on to his hand with all of the human's remaining strength, as if he was trying to cling to his friend that way. Though they both knew that the forces that would drive them apart were much stronger than two hands, Legolas could not help but return the pressure.

"I hope I will… see you again… one day," Aragorn said, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. He had to struggle to keep them open now.

"You will never be forgotten, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Legolas replied softly. "Not as long as Valinor and the Valar still exist."

Aragorn's eyes drifted shut, and Legolas did not even know whether his words had still been heard. The man's fingers and his body went limp in the elf's arms and for a moment Legolas was alarmed, but then he felt a faint heartbeat under his hand. He knew the man would not wake up again. Not in this life.

Now that he did not have to keep his composure or hide his emotions from Aragorn any longer, the elf finally broke down. Burying his face in Aragorn's shoulder, he wept soundlessly, feeling as if the strength of his grief would tear him apart. The pain was worse than anything the orcs had done to him. The trees around them murmured in sympathy and sorrow, their branches swaying gently, causing the leaves to rustle as if whispering to each other.

Legolas was unaware of anything else but the limp body in his arms and his own searing, all-encompassing pain. He cried until there were no more tears and his body started to shake with exhaustion and fatigue. Not caring what happened to him or the rest of Middle-earth any longer, he allowed himself to be swept away by grief and exhaustion, falling into a dark abyss where there was no memory, no pain, only nothingness.

The elf did not feel the gentle touch of bright green spring leaves, which rained from the trees above them as they cried with him.

_To be continued…_

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_(peeks around the corner) Since this ending probably did not make you very happy (cough) I'll do my best to update earlier this time. I'll just wait for all of you to catch up. :)_


	9. Facing the Enemy

_**Author's Note:**__ It is a bit sad that many people seem to have lost all interest in the story, but I'm really grateful for all of you who are still with me and for the wonderful feedback you give me! (hugs) Anon, Calliope, and Mrs. Staffel, thank you very much for your reviews, they are greatly appreciated! I won't keep you waiting any longer – here's your next chapter. Enjoy! As usual, I'd love to hear from you and will answer each signed review. :)_

_**Warning**__: Violence. Lots of it._

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. Still not mine. (cries) I wonder if anyone would really notice me stealing only one little, insignificant elf?! (sigh)_

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**Chapter Nine: Facing the Enemy**

"_When I find myself fading,  
I close my eyes and realize my friends are my energy."  
_(Unkown)

When he slowly came to his senses again, the first thing Legolas felt were the consequences of resting in an awkward, hunched-over position. His legs felt numb and his back and neck ached. He opened his eyes and sat up carefully. Immediately, his gaze fell on the limp figure he was still holding in his arms, and the memories came crashing back on him. Aragorn's face was deadly pale, and a sudden, terrible fear clutched at the elf's heart, the fear that he had broken his promise and had left Aragorn to die alone while he had been too weak to fight against the sleep.

But then he felt the weak heartbeat under his hand and sensed that there was still life in his friend, though he seemed to lie in deep unconsciousness. It was a state Legolas had once heard being called 'the sleep of death'. The man would not suffer any more now – the athelas treatment had brought at least that much, and Legolas was grateful for it. The elf closed his eyes in relief – he had not abandoned his friend.

He opened his eyes again and studied the man's still, nearly peaceful features for a while, too drained to even feel the grief that was already destroying his soul. Though he had just awoken from sleep, he felt so tired, as never before in his life. His arm was swollen and hurting, and his head pounded with every movement he made. He felt dizzy and nauseated.

For a moment he wondered whether it was really as hot and humid as it seemed to be, of if the fever was still playing tricks on his body and mind. It hurt to know that Aragorn had had to live through all of this before him, only to end up here, in a nameless place in the middle of Mirkwood, dying.

Finally, Legolas turned his gaze away from his friend, and that was when he noticed the circle of green leaves all around them. Realizing what must have happened, he smiled sadly. The leaves were beautiful and still full of life. It grieved him that they would now die on the ground instead of giving colour and music to the forest around them. He looked up at the trees, silently expressing his gratefulness for their sacrifice. There was no song in him any longer.

The trees stayed strangely silent. Legolas could feel that they were still mourning for him, sharing his grief. For a moment he wondered what would become of his beloved forest now… what would become of his people. His thoughts strayed to his father, and shied away from the knowledge of the pain he would cause. He would have given anything right now to at least be able to say goodbye.

_Forgive me_, he thought, feeling more miserable than ever before in his life. He knew Thranduil would not be able to bear his son's fate, and he knew that the Woodland Realm would not be able to stand against the darkness without its king. But what was even worse was that the hope of mankind and Middle-earth had been lost… and he had caused all of this, by failing to protect the friend who was dying for his sake.

Legolas pressed Estel's motionless body against him, once again burying his face in the man's shoulder. A violent shiver went through the elf's body, and he felt as if his heart was breaking inside him. He knew it was. Slowly, unconsciously, he began rocking back and forth. He welcomed the darkness that closed around him, broke over him like the waves of a distant, endless sea.

There were no painful thoughts anymore, only the rippling surf of unleashed emotions lapping on his heart. He had the strange feeling of both drowning and burning up at the same time. Fleetingly, he wondered whether his grief would kill him before the poison could, but he was beyond caring. Either way would end the pain, and that was all he longed for. He could only hope it would not take too long. The one thing that still held him to life was the weak heartbeat he could feel in the body in his arms. He had no wish to live after it had ceased.

Legolas did not know how long he stayed like that, wrapped in the darkness of his grief, listening to the faint, laboured breathing of the body he held pressed tightly to his own and feeling the poison burn deeper into him, leaving a trail of pain in its wake. Finally, after a seemingly endless time, he became aware of a change around him.

Whispering voices penetrated the dark cloud of despair around his mind, and there was a hint of urgency in them that caught his attention in spite of his exhaustion and pain. He straightened slightly and raised his head. There was a strange tension in the air around them and it was eerily silent, as if all wind and movement had ceased, as if the forest was… listening.

Immediately, Legolas knew who had been trying to talk to him, when the voices of the trees murmured in his head, crying out to him in a silent warning. The elf tensed, suddenly understanding what they told him. It seemed the orcs had caught up with them at last.

----------

Legolas' warrior instincts flared to life, shoving grief, pain, and weakness aside for the moment. He listened intently, trying to judge the distance between him and their foes. Satisfied that he still had some time for preparations, he scrutinized his surroundings. His eyes came to rest on a large oak tree only a short distance away. The elf shifted his position slightly and cradled his precious burden close to his chest.

Gathering all his remaining strength, he staggered to his feet. His arms shook under the weight, and his weakened body protested against the strain, but Legolas gritted his teeth and forced his leaden feet to move. Luckily, he did not have to go far, and he managed to reach the oak before he broke to his knees again. He lay Aragorn down near the trunk of the great tree, between the gnarled roots, shifting him carefully until he seemed to rest in a comfortable position.

He looked down at the serene face for a moment, imprinting it on his memory and trying to draw strength and courage from the sight. There was a deep sadness in the elf's eyes, but also determination. He had known that this was likely to happen, though he had hoped to be able to hold his friend until the end. Legolas put one hand lightly on the man's brow. Aragorn's face was paler than he had ever seen it before, and the skin cool to the touch.

Legolas' fingers shook slightly and his sight had turned blurry, but he ignored it. His hand moved to cup the man's face, his thumb gently brushing over his cheek. "Farewell, Estel," he whispered, and then his voice broke. He bowed his head, and the fingers of his free hand balled into a fist, the fingernails digging deeply into the flesh.

For a moment, the elf's self-control threatened to falter, but the renewed warnings of the trees reminded him what was at stake here, and he straightened. His eyes found his friend's face one last time. "I promise you that you will die in peace," he whispered. "They will not touch you."

After making that vow, the elf's eyes hardened, and he tore his gaze from his friend's face. Slowly, he rose to his feet. His legs shook, and a sudden bout of dizziness forced him to lean against the tree for a moment. The oak whispered to him soothingly, its voice almost feeling like an embrace. He could feel deep concern radiating from it. The tree reminded Legolas very much of Aragorn and the elf could not help smiling. He had chosen the right resting place for his friend.

He filled his mind with gratefulness, knowing that the tree would feel it. Then he took a step forward, his hand reaching for the bow on his back. It was time to ready himself for the coming battle. His hand only found empty air. Legolas froze, as he suddenly became aware that Aragorn's bow and quiver were gone. Only the hunting knife was still at his side.

They must have left both bow and quiver behind at their last resting place, without even realizing that something was missing. It told him much about the state both of them had already been in, but it did nothing to improve his current situation. The orcs outnumbered him by far, he was poisoned and wounded and on the brink of fading, and now he could not even decimate their number with some well-aimed arrow shots.

The elf closed his eyes. It did not matter. He had to protect Aragorn, and he had to make sure that he himself did not fall into the orcs' hands alive. If he did not have bow and arrow, he would use whatever he had. He opened his eyes again, looking in the direction where he could now hear guttural voices and twigs cracking under heavily booted feet. Legolas turned around and kneeled down beside his friend once more.

He leaned forward and drew Aragorn's sword out of its scabbard. Somehow it was fitting that he would use his friend's blade to cut down the orcs that hunted them. "I will make good use of it," he promised his unresponsive friend, and rose again.

Legolas took up position between his friend and the advancing orcs, the oak at his back. In his right hand, he held Aragorn's sword, and in his weakened left hand the man's hunting knife. The weapons felt unfamiliar in his hands, but the knowledge that they belonged to Aragorn made him feel as if his friend would be fighting with him.

The elf wiped perspiration from his brow, wishing that he did not feel so hot and dizzy, and that his head would stop pounding and shrink back to its normal size. His sight had become blurry again, and this time there were no tears to cause it. He was hurting all over now. Legolas knew his condition was worsening and that both the grief and the spreading poison were responsible for it, but he hoped that he would not live long enough to be seriously hindered by it.

A movement in front of him drew his attention and the various pains and hurts of his body instantly faded into the background. The first orcs stepped out between the surrounding trees, coming to a dead stop when they suddenly found themselves face to face with their elusive prey. Their surprise lasted only for a moment, then one of them gave a short cry of triumph to alert the others and they drew slowly nearer, like a pack of predators that had cornered a wounded, dangerous prey.

Legolas shifted his weight slightly, unobtrusively, but made no other move. His arms hung limply at his sides, the sword and the knife pointing to the ground, and he stared straight ahead, not bothering to follow the movements of his enemies with his eyes. Being very aware of his own weakness, he knew he had to conserve all his remaining strength until the last possible moment.

There was no room for fear anymore. All his thoughts were on the motionless, dying friend behind him, whom he had sworn to protect. The orcs had taken from him what meant most to him in this world, but he would not allow them to even get near the man again as long as he still drew breath. For the first time since the orcs had captured him, he felt calm. There was nothing else for him to do but to be a living barrier between the darkness in front of him and the fading light behind him, and wait.

He could feel the eyes of the orcs boring into him, and knew the malice and the cruel anticipation that shone in them. Some of them spoke to him, trying to provoke or intimidate him with taunts or threats, but he stayed silent and unmoving. The throbbing in his head had intensified and the rushing of blood in his ears and his own heartbeat nearly drowned out the voices of his enemies. He was grateful for it.

The orcs stopped some distance away from him, forming a loose half-circle around him. For a seemingly endless moment, nothing else happened. Legolas had to fight to keep himself from swaying, and he wished he could lean on Aragorn's sword without drawing attention to his weakness. Finally, the ranks of his enemies parted and the orc leader stepped forward, facing the elf that had been his captive a short time ago.

Legolas tensed involuntarily. Even with his blurry sight he recognized the orc immediately. The creature stood a head taller than the orcs under his command, and there was an almost palpable aura of menace and darkness around him. Legolas knew that the orc's subordinates feared him just as much as he had done. The elf's gaze dropped to the creature's belt, and found the familiar outlines of two white-handled elven knives, carried around like trophies.

Legolas felt a surge of anger and had to restrain himself from attacking the creature in front of him right away. His fingers clung so tightly to the hilt of his friend's sword that the knuckles stood out white. The orc leader merely watched him for a while, and the elf forced himself to remain motionless and impassive under the intense scrutiny.

"You didn't get very far, elf," the orc finally hissed, dark satisfaction in his voice. He took one more step towards the elf, tilting his head slightly as if sniffing the air.

"I can smell your weakness," he sneered. "The poison burns in your blood. It will consume you slowly from the inside, until it feels like burning alive. This time you _will_ scream, elf." His lips parted into a smile. "They all do in the end."

Something deep inside Legolas shuddered and wanted to shrink back, to flee from the voice and the memories it awoke, but he could still feel Aragorn's living presence behind him, and his desire to protect his friend was far greater than his memories of pain and helplessness, and his fear. He stood his ground, locking his gaze with the one of the orc leader, but showing no other reaction.

"We could simply stand here and watch the poison kill you," the orc added slowly. "We wouldn't even have to touch you to see you writhe in pain."

Legolas stiffened, suddenly alarmed. His control wavered. He knew he would not be able to hold on for long. He was already too weak, and sooner or later either the poison or the grief or both would force him to his knees. If he could not make the orcs attack him while he still had some strength left, he would not be able to protect Aragorn, and they would both fall into their hands. He suppressed a shiver.

For a moment he considered charging to make the orcs fight him, but as he could not abandon his position if he wanted to guard Aragorn he quickly dropped the idea. He tried to force his feverish, weary mind to think, wishing that the headache would stop for only a moment. Then, suddenly, he saw the fault in the orc's reasoning.

He straightened, hoping that traces of the panic he had felt moments before did not show in his face. For the first time since the beginning of his captivity he addressed the orc leader, who had done everything to make him suffer and humiliate him the entire time since he had first fallen into their hands.

"I believe your _master_ would not mind the delay," he said sarcastically, his voice as cold as he could make it.

The orc snarled, and there was murder in his eyes now. Since death was what Legolas wanted, it did not scare him. For a moment he thought the orc would attack him right then and there, but obviously the creature was not only able to control the horde it commanded, but also itself. Once again the orc leader stepped closer, keeping just enough distance to be out of range of the elf's weapons.

"You can't fight all of us," he whispered. "We'll get you in the end. Surrender now, and we won't punish you and will grant your friend a quick death."

There was restlessness and murmuring in the ranks of the orcs around them, and Legolas wondered if these creatures were really stupid enough to believe one word their leader said. Even in the middle of one of his fever hallucinations he would still have known better than to trust this orc, or, in fact, any orc at all.

If he surrendered now, they would torment Aragorn until his dying breath in front of his eyes, not caring whether the human was conscious enough to feel the torture or not. And they would undoubtedly find a way to ensure that he would not be able to escape again, perhaps punish him so severely that he would not be able to move for days, or cripple his legs in some way.

"I would have to be an orc to be stupid enough to believe such a promise," Legolas retorted with a contemptuous smile. "You will get neither him, nor me."

He raised Aragorn's sword into a ready position, hoping that he had provoked his opponent enough to make him attack before his arm would begin to shake under the strain.

"You don't know the meaning of true suffering yet, elf," the orc hissed, "but you will, once I'm through with you!"

The orc leader stepped back and snarled a command in the Black Tongue. Legolas almost winced. The Black Speech grated on his nerves, as if the poison had made him overly sensitive to it. Then the orcs moved in on him, following the orders of their leader, and the beginning battle drove all other thoughts and worries from the elf's mind.

Legolas brought Aragorn's sword up to parry the stroke of a scimitar, and simultaneously stabbed the shoulder of another orc with his hunting knife, feeling nothing but relief now that the wait was finally over. The elf moved instinctively, his body knowing what to do without needing to be told as countless years of warrior training and battle experience kicked in.

The fighting distracted him from the pain and gave him a welcome opportunity to vent his grief and his anger. Here were the ones who were responsible for Aragorn's suffering, the ones who had taken his friend from his side forever, and now he would make them pay. There was nothing on his mind but his hunger for revenge, and the firm resolve not to let them pass, as he used all the skills and the remaining strength of his failing body against his foes.

Legolas went to one knee to avoid a blade that had been aimed for his neck and used his sword to disembowel the attacking orc while he slashed out with his knife, cutting deeply into the arm of another foe, who dropped his weapon with a howl of pain. The next orc jumped over the fallen creature still writhing in its death throes, ready to bury his axe in the elf's knee, but Legolas dropped to one side, lashing out with one of his legs and bringing the creature down, quickly slicing its throat when it hit the ground.

The next moment the elf was on his feet again. He was quite aware that the orcs were trying not to kill him, and he used his advantage ruthlessly. Knowing that there was nothing but death waiting for him, he did not care about the wounds he was taking, ignoring the complaints of his body. His will to live was linked to the weak heartbeat in the still body behind him, and if he went down before that heart stopped beating he was determined to rather kill his friend himself than allow the orcs to touch him.

Eager for his blood, many of the orcs almost fought each other to get to the elf, and some of them died before they even had a chance to raise their weapons. Legolas moved right into the attack of a charging orc, blocking the scimitar swinging down on him with his knife and piercing the creature's heart with his sword, tearing the blade free before the corpse hit the ground to engage the next of his foes.

The ground was slippery with black blood now, and littered by corpses. The light-footed elf managed to keep his balance, but some of the orcs stumbled to never rise again. The orc leader barked commands, but between the clashing of his sword and an attacker's scimitar and ducking to avoid the bite of a serrated blade Legolas could not understand his words. A sudden feeling of danger made the elf tense and almost lose his footing on the treacherous ground.

He felt a blade break his skin and open a bloody cut in his shoulder. Moving backwards, he smashed his elbow into the face of one orc, stunning him, and spun around to bring his sword down on the head of another one, using it as if it were an axe. Safe for some precious seconds, he looked around, noticing immediately that some of the orcs had moved behind him, either wanting to reach Aragorn, or simply trying to get to his back.

Concentrating as well as he still could, Legolas called out to the mighty oak tree at his back, knowing that all would be lost if his enemies managed to get behind him. Anger and sorrow that were not his own brushed his mind, and then the branches behind him began to move, and the leaves rustled, though there was no wind to cause it. As the sounds of the battle had died down for the moment, the rustling and murmuring could clearly be heard throughout the entire clearing.

Legolas heard orcs shriek behind him, and move hastily away from the swaying branches of the great tree, which suddenly seemed more threatening to the orcs than their own leader. Relieved, the elf filled his mind with gratefulness once again. A deep sadness emanated from the oak, and Legolas knew that it mourned for him and his friend. He found himself wishing to be able to comfort it, but was aware that it was beyond his power to do so.

Then the fight began anew, and Legolas was unable to spare another thought on the tree or on what was happening behind him. He automatically went through all the familiar movements of slicing, hacking, slashing, parrying, and ducking over and over again, but he could feel himself weakening and slowing down. Whenever one of his foes fell, it was replaced by a new one. There was nothing in his world now but distorted faces filled with hatred, and the burning bite of steel whenever he moved too slow.

It became harder and harder to bring his enemies down, or to move at all. A red veil seemed to have fallen in front of his eyes, and sometimes he saw no more than shadowy, blurry figures moving around in a red mist. He felt as if flames were licking at his skin, and his body slowly seemed to burn up all around him. Legolas could have screamed with pain, but he needed all his strength to keep fighting.

He knew that there was a reason for the pain he was in, and that he should remember it, but he could not. He only knew that Estel was behind him, and that he had to protect him at all costs. Then, suddenly, the attack stopped.

The elf swayed and barely managed to regain his balance, now that the routine of movements was broken. The stench of the black blood and the corpses around him made him feel nauseated. He looked around, confused. He could still feel the presence of his enemies, and could see their blurry figures standing all around him.

His gaze fixed on a big orc in front of him, instinctively recognizing the figure and feeling the almost palpable threat and danger that emanated from it. Legolas shook his head slightly and tried to blink the red haze away. For an instant his sight cleared, and his gaze fell on a crossbow in the orc leader's claws.

Seeing recognition in the elf's eyes, the orc smiled at him cruelly and pulled the trigger. The arrow whistled through the air, hitting flesh with a sickening thud.

_To be continued…

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_(eyes scowling readers) Something tells me I'm in for another early update. :D _


	10. To the Last Breath

_**Author's Note:**__ I'm not really sure whether the readers or the characters suffered more during the last chapter. ;-) Thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback! (hugs) Mrs. Staffel, Anon, lauren hedgehog, eli, since I can't reply to you I at least want you to know that your reviews are very much appreciated! (more hugs) Here's more reading matter for all of you, I hope you'll enjoy! Reviews, constructive criticism, and random ramblings are very welcome:D_

_**Warning**__: Probable tissue alert. __A bit violence._

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. If those who own them ever want to get rid of them I'd graciously offer to take them in. :D_

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**Chapter Ten: To the Last Breath**

"_Each departed friend is a magnet that attracts us to the next world."  
_Jean Paul Richter

Before he could try to dodge or even move, Legolas felt a searing pain in his left thigh. The leg crumpled beneath him, and he broke to his knees with a gasp. For a moment he threatened to drown under waves of pain, but something inside of him still fought, still clung to consciousness in spite of the pain and the fear, and somehow he forced himself to raise his head and look at his enemy again.

The orc had thrown the crossbow to the ground and was now moving towards the elf, a familiar-looking white-handled elven knife in his grasp. "Time to end the game, elf," he snarled, coming to stand right in front of his prey and looking down at the kneeling elf, clearly enjoying the pain he had caused.

Legolas shivered. His instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, to do anything at all, but his body was throbbing with almost unbearable pain and beyond exhaustion now. Around the clearing, branches began to creak and leaves to rustle as if hit by a sudden gust of wind, and the elf heard the alarmed voices of the trees whisper to him urgently in his mind.

The orc hesitated, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he looked up at the surrounding trees. Then he shook his head, as if dismissing what he saw, and turned back towards the bleeding elf in front of him, who had forced him to hunt after him for days and had killed a considerable number of his orcs.

The elf would have to pay dearly for this, but first they had to leave this much-too-dangerous part of the forest behind. The orc leader turned the knife in his hand in such a way that he would strike with the pommel rather than the blade, and brought the weapon down on the kneeling figure in front of him.

Legolas watched the movements of the orc leader dazedly. It was difficult to pay attention to anything else but the pain, but the trees were almost screaming at him now, and there was also another voice inside him, weak and pleading. _Promise me… you will not allow them to catch you again._ Even in his current state the elf could not help recognizing that familiar voice, and it called to his heart louder than the trees did.

For the wink of an eye, his thoughts cleared and he understood what was happening around him and why he was here. Estel! He had to fulfil his promise, he had to protect his friend. Legolas shifted slightly, ignoring the fiery pain the movement sent through his injured leg. He had dropped the sword, needing one hand to support himself, but he had not let go of the hunting knife.

When the orc leaned forward to bring the elf's own knife down on him, Legolas rose on one knee, thrusting his weapon at the towering figure above him. The blade did not stab the orc, as he had intended to do, but it opened a deep cut in the creature's shoulder, enough to make the orc hiss in pain and jump back instinctively.

The orc-leader touched his shoulder, staring at the black blood on his fingers, then he looked back at the kneeling elf in front of him, whose hunting knife was dripping with fresh blood now.

Legolas tried to meet the creature's gaze, but all he saw was a towering blurry shadow in front of him. The red haze was back, and he seemed to see everything around him through a veil of blood. The sudden movement had caused the arrow to shift in the wound, and the leg throbbed and burned mercilessly, sending waves of agony through the elf's hurting body.

For a long moment, Legolas heard nothing but his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, and his ragged breathing. Then the orc snarled like a wounded, enraged beast. The elf did not need to see the creature's eyes to feel the hatred in them. The orc dropped the elven knife carelessly, whirled around, and snatched something from one of the orcs behind him. When the orc-leader turned back, Legolas knew instinctively from his posture that he was holding a crossbow in his claws.

The elf tensed. He could feel more than see the burning rage emanating from his enemy, and knew that this time the arrow would be aimed to kill. There was no way he would be able to dodge the arrow or attack the orc again in his state. A black wave of despair washed over him. He had failed again.

The orc would kill him, but Estel was still alive. He had broken his promise to stay with his friend until the end. That knowledge hurt more than the pain in his body ever could. Legolas watched the orc raising his arm and taking aim. All the elf could think about was Estel, and all he could feel was the fading spark of life in the body behind him. Legolas felt hot tears sting at his eyes. He wanted to ask his friend's forgiveness, but knew he did not deserve it. He had failed to save his friend, and now he had failed to protect the man's dying body against their worst foes.

Legolas closed his eyes. He could only pray with all his heart that Estel was already too far gone to feel whatever the orcs would do to his body. His own death was meaningless to the elf, in fact, he would have welcomed it if only Estel had gone first. He heard a slight creaking sound as the orc-leader drew the crossbow.

The elf opened his eyes again to stare at his foe. His free hand balled into a fist, as he prepared for the pain. There were sounds in the distance, but he barely registered them. The trees were rustling and moaning around them, and he could feel their distress. There was no comfort he could give them, so he tried not to listen. There was nothing but himself and his enemy, and death.

Then many things seemed to happen all at once. Legolas felt the ground vibrate slightly beneath him, and there were agitated voices that seemed to get closer. The trees called out to him, and their sounds mingled with the snarling voices of orcs. There was a whistling sound and a thud. The orc-leader jerked, and Legolas heard the snapping sound as he pulled the trigger.

A draught touched the elf's cheek like a fleeting caress of cold fingers as something cut through the air only inches from his face. After some moments, Legolas blinked. He was not dead. The orc in front of him had vanished. Had the orc-leader decided not to kill him after all? Shadows were moving all around him, though the space in front of him was free. Voices seemed to come from everywhere, but Legolas did not understand a single word. Neither did he care.

He was alive. Whatever had happened, he had been given a second chance to protect his friend. He would not fail again. He could not bear such pain a second time. His searching fingers closed around the hilt of Aragorn's sword. Using the weapon for support, the elf managed to fight his way first to one knee, and then to his feet. He was beyond pain now, beyond fatigue. His movements were awkward, and without any grace.

The moment he stood, his wounded leg threatened to falter beneath him, but he somehow forced himself to stay upright, leaning heavily on the sword. Raising his head, he saw blurry shadows moving all around him through the red haze. There were voices, and screams, and the sounds of steel clashing against steel. The trees were whispering to him, but their mood had changed.

Legolas was finally too far gone to make sense of what was happening around him any longer, or to understand what the trees were trying to tell him. Aragorn was the sole reason why the elf was still clinging to life and consciousness now. He would not let his friend down a second time. The elf watched the moving shadows, waiting for any of them to come too close to himself and the one he was determined to protect.

He felt strangely detached from the unreal scenes around him and from his swaying body, as if watching a dream. Finally, the tumult and the noise seemed to die down. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas perceived a movement and when he turned his head, he saw three figures moving slowly towards him.

Without taking his eyes off of them for an instant, he shifted his weight slightly, preparing himself to defend his friend one last time. The shadowy figures seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then one of them stepped closer. Legolas waited, ready to strike as soon as his opponent was near enough.

He heard a voice once again, and part of him realized that the figure was talking to him, but he understood only single snatches of what was being said.

"… prince… hurt…"

Legolas paid the words no heed, needing all his concentration now to remain upright and focus the rest of his strength on the one single purpose of fighting until his last breath. There was no room for thoughts anymore, only for instinct. The enemy took one more step, and Legolas moved. Putting all his weight on his right leg, he brought the sword up and lashed out against the shadow in front of him.

A scream of pain told him that the blade had found its mark. Then his wounded leg crumpled beneath him, and he went down on one knee again. He stayed there, not even trying to rise again, panting from the exertion the movement had cost him and fighting not to drown in wave after wave of fiery pain, which the arrow sent through his leg and his entire body.

For a moment, darkness threatened to engulf him, but then the pain abated slightly and the darkness was replaced by the now-familiar red haze. The first thing Legolas noticed was that the figures had retreated, but though they made no move to come closer there were more of them now. He moved his right arm slightly. The muscles began trembling as he even tried to lift the sword, so he dropped it and changed the hunting knife into his right hand.

Once again, the elf waited. There were now many voices all around him, some concerned, some alarmed, and someone was calling out to somebody else. Legolas let the words wash over him without taking notice of them, wishing that all was already done and he could simply let himself fall into darkness and escape into welcome oblivion.

"Sire, we need your help!"

"He attacked him."

"… do not think he is even aware of us…"

"… be careful…"

There was movement again. This time, only one of the shadows came towards him. Legolas forced his sore muscles to tense, readying himself for the fight as well as he could. Having to fight from a kneeling position, he knew instinctively that he would have to wait until the last possible moment to have a chance against an uninjured foe who could strike at him from above.

The figure moved slowly closer and then came to a stop right in front of Legolas, just out of reach of the elf's weapon. Legolas could feel the being watching him, but as there was no threatening move he remained where he was, waiting. Then his opponent did something the elf had not expected. He took one more step towards Legolas, and then went down on one knee, giving up the advantage of superior height and bringing them face-to-face.

Legolas wasted no time with wondering about that move. He did not think at all, only reacted. He turned slightly and moved as fast as he could, bringing the hunting knife up to the other's throat, letting it rest there. The elf felt the slight resistance of the skin against the blade, knowing that the life of his foe was in his hands now. For a seemingly endless moment, neither of them stirred. Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the silence:

"Legolas?"

The elf froze, alarmed. No one here was supposed to know his name. He knew it meant deadly danger, though he was not able to remember why. But, whatever danger he was in, there was only one thing that mattered to him at the moment.

"You will not touch him," he hissed, almost unable to recognize his own voice, pressing his knife closer against the throat in front of him.

The figure moved slowly and carefully, raising its arms and holding the hands to the sides. At such a short distance even Legolas with his blurry, distorted sight could not help noticing that the hands were empty. The being in front of him was unarmed. He hesitated.

"Legolas, do you not recognize me?" the voice spoke up again, and there were various deep emotions underlying the words that Legolas could sense, but not name.

Unconsciously, the elf tilted his head slightly, confused. There was something he felt about the presence in front of him, something about that voice…

"Listen to my voice, my son!"

Legolas froze. He shook his head slightly, trying to get rid of the red haze that distorted his view, unable to believe that what he heard and felt was true. The pain and the pounding in his head multiplied promptly, and he swayed. Immediately, hands gripped his shoulders, supporting him.

"Adar?" ((father)) he whispered, trying to fix his eyes on the familiar face that had to be there, somewhere.

"I am here," the voice answered. "I am here."

One of the hands moved away from Legolas' shoulder and up to his face, touching it so gently that the bruised skin did not protest, lightly stroking his hair back. Legolas' hand that still held the knife sank down slowly, and the weapon fell from suddenly weak, shaking fingers.

"You are safe now," Thranduil went on, his voice vibrating with worry and relief. "The fight is over."

A shiver ran through Legolas' body. Immense relief washed over him and at the same time something in him crumbled and gave in. Cramped muscles relaxed, as his remaining strength finally gave out. He did not even realize he had collapsed until he felt himself caught and held by strong arms. His head came to rest against something warm, and he listened to a steady, if accelerated heartbeat beneath him. The scent around him was almost painfully familiar, and he breathed in deeply. For the first time for what felt like an eternity of pain and fighting he felt safe again.

But something still kept nagging at his consciousness, not allowing him to rest even now. Then, suddenly, he remembered. He brought a shaking hand up, clasping his father's arm. "Estel," he whispered. "Save him - please…"

The nagging voice inside of him fell silent, and darkness closed around him as he finally ceased to fight. He embraced it, allowing himself to fall into a bottomless abyss.

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Legolas never remembered much of the time that followed. He drifted in and out of consciousness, but there were only a few things he was aware of. Pain was ever-present and all-encompassing, like an endless fiery ocean that threatened to drown him and burn him at the same time, but there were also always arms holding him and a soothing voice speaking to him. He would cling to that voice and that strength as if it was a lifeline, until he would fall into darkness again.

There was also constant movement around him and beneath him. Sometimes he barely noticed it, and sometimes the pain it caused him would keep him in a semi-conscious state, away from the comforting darkness, until the movement stopped and allowed him to escape from a world that seemed to hold nothing more but torment for him. Then, finally, the pain seemed to ease off, or perhaps the movement had ceased, and for a while there was nothing but blessed darkness and oblivion.

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Legolas woke up to the feeling of hands on him, touching him and holding him down. Memories awoke, and he began to struggle against the hands instinctively. His eyes flew open, and for a moment he had to blink against the bright light all around him.

"Back off!" a commanding voice ordered, and suddenly the hands were gone.

Legolas relaxed slowly. He noticed fleetingly that he was lying on something soft and very comfortable. He felt confused, and something was missing. He became aware of a dull throbbing in both his arm and his left thigh, and suddenly he realized that the intense, fiery pain that had seemed to burn him from inside was almost gone. It felt unbelievably good.

He relaxed even more, and began to wonder whether he had already entered the Halls of Mandos, and if it was normal to arrive there in such a confused and still-injured state. Unable to really concentrate on the thought, he let it go. Before he could drift off again, there was a movement to his right that captured his attention. He turned his head slightly and forced his eyes to remain open.

The shapes around him were still blurry, but there was no red haze, and now that he fixed his eyes on something his sight seemed to clear and sharpen, until he recognized the shape above him as a face. The face was framed by long, golden strands of hair, and a golden circlet set upon the high brow. Green eyes looked down on him as if searching for something, and he read deep worry in them. The entire face seemed paler and more haggard than he remembered it to be.

"Father?" he whispered, surprised how much effort it cost him to say even a single word.

The lips in the pale face parted into a smile, and Legolas felt fingers close around one of his hands in a warm, firm grip. "I am here," a familiar voice said. "You are safe, my son. Just rest now. I will take care of everything."

Legolas' eyelids immediately began to droop again, but then a single, alarming thought shot through his mind, banishing his weakness for some more moments. "Estel?" he asked, feeling a sudden, cold fear rising within him without knowing why.

Thranduil did not avoid his son's gaze and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "He is right here," he said calmly. "Just sleep now. You need it."

Used to both trusting his father's words and obeying his king's commands, Legolas did as he was told. His eyes closed, and almost at the same moment he fell back into a deep, exhausted sleep.

_To be continued…_

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_Satisfied? They are rescued – kind of. (g) Since some of you are probably a bit worried about Aragorn's fate by now I'll try to keep up updating early (now that sounds weird :P). ;-)_


	11. The Will to Live

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you so much for your reviews! I love hearing your thoughts and comments about my story. :) I also want to give a special thank you to Anon, eli, and Mrs. Staffel – I really enjoy your reviews, even if I can't answer them. (hugs all reviewers) Here's a long chapter that should answer many of your questions (and will hopefully save me from the poking wrath of a certain reviewer ;-). Feedback is very welcome:D_

_**Warning**__: Probable tissue alert. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. Nestadren and Tuilinn are mine. YAY!!!_

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**Chapter Eleven: The Will to Live**

"_Life begins on the other side of despair."  
_Jean-Paul Sartre

When Legolas awoke again he felt much better. He could not remember having ever felt so weak before in his life, but he was able to think clearly and when he opened his eyes he immediately recognized his surroundings. There was no sign that anything had ever been wrong with his sight, and when he concentrated on his body a steady pain in his thigh and a light headache were all that still reminded him of the ordeal he had been through.

He was in one of the healing rooms in the Palace, a place that felt almost as familiar to him as his own chambers. One look was enough to tell him that it was already late in the afternoon. It was stormy outside, and the light in the room changed with the movements of the treetops swaying in the wind in front of the large windows. Legolas heard the rejoicing of the big trees in the Queen's Garden when they noticed that he had regained consciousness.

Those trees had been planted by his mother and had known him and been his friends since the day he was born. Legolas could not help smiling at their relief and excitement. He greeted them silently, though he did not feel like rejoicing himself. He remembered all that had happened to him now, even if some of the memories were vague thanks to the fever and the poison that had wrought havoc inside of him.

Together with the memories came the same cold fear that had already plagued him the last time he had awoken, but now that he knew what had happened it was much worse. The memories of Estel dying were more than he could bear. He could still feel the grief eating away at his soul, and for a moment he wondered how he could still be alive.

Then he remembered the soothing voice that had been with him all the time while he had only been one step away from death's door, and he knew that Thranduil must have used all the strength and the love he had to keep his son from fading. Legolas closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the ceiling he had been staring at for quite some time now. He could not have died with his father at his side, nor could he do so now and force Thranduil to go through the same pain he did.

Still, he was not sure if he could bear staying alive. Learning about his friend's fate seemed to require more courage than he had. Aragorn had been almost dead when Thranduil had miraculously appeared in front of his son. Legolas did not know how he would be able to bear surviving if Estel had not. He feared the knowledge of the man's fate even more than he had feared being captured by the orcs again.

Legolas had been willing to die rather than leave his friend behind. He knew that he might be forced to face something that was worse than his own death now. Outside, a gust of wind drove raindrops against the windows, and the windowpanes rattled. Legolas listened to the sounds of the storm for a while, but they only reminded him of the night when he and Aragorn had been forced to walk through the thunderstorm.

Aragorn had been weak and in pain then, but he had still been alive. The thought hurt, and Legolas almost wished he could be able to turn back the time. He opened his eyes again when he heard soft steps coming towards him. From the moment he had awoken he had known that he was not alone in the room, and he knew that he could not hide behind closed eyelids forever. Besides, any elf who was near the Queen's Garden would know by now that he had regained consciousness.

The steps had a strange rhythm to them that told him immediately who the other person in the room was. There was only one limping elf in Mirkwood, and perhaps in the whole of Middle-earth. Legolas turned his head and found himself looking at an elf with aquiline features and silvery hair, whose light grey eyes were watching him intently.

The elf wore a simple grey tunic, and his hair was held back from his face by warrior braids. No one who did not know him could have taken him for anything else but a warrior. In fact, Nestadren had been a fearsome warrior once, before the battle of Dagorlad. He had been a member of King Oropher's personal guard then, respected for both his deadly skills with a blade and his loyalty to the royal family. The battle of Dagorlad had cost him both his health and almost everyone he had cared for, including the king he had been sworn to protect. He had been found unconscious and severely wounded on the battlefield, not too far from the place where Oropher had fallen.

Nestadren's wounds had healed with time, but the damage done to one leg had been more extensive than even his elven self-healing power and the most skilled healers could repair. Since then, he had to drag one leg slightly, which made the rhythm of his steps unmistakable. Rather than doing as any other elf in his situation, Nestadren had decided to forego the journey to the White Shores for the time being and stay in Middle-earth.

As a reason for staying he claimed that no descendent of Oropher would ever be able to survive for long if someone did not keep a close eye on him, while Thranduil declared that Nestadren was simply too stubborn to sail and finally grant them some peace. Legolas himself had never taken Nestadren's decision for anything else but remarkable courage.

After he had finally recovered from his wounds, Nestadren had chosen to give up being a warrior and become a healer instead. Soon his reputation as a healer had equalled the fame he had had as a warrior. By the time Legolas was born, Nestadren had already advanced to the position of head healer of the Palace.

Thranduil and his wife soon decided to put the welfare of their son entirely in Nestadren's hands, as it became clear that he was the only healer whose orders Legolas would follow – and who was quickly able to track him down if Legolas decided to leave bed or healing room prematurely. Thranduil was heard to say that only someone as stubborn and mule-headed as his son was able to treat him. Fact was, Nestadren was the only person in Mirkwood apart from the queen who was able to give orders to both prince _and_ king and be obeyed.

While he was still an elfling, Legolas admired Nestadren greatly and saw him as both example and hero. When he had grown up and become a warrior himself, the old healer became something between a friend and the uncle he had never had and, after the death of the queen, sometimes a mediator between a strong-willed, protective king and an equally strong-willed, freedom-loving prince. They both had to thank him for much.

Even if he had not recognized the unmistakable rhythm of the healer's steps, Legolas would have expected Nestadren to be somewhere close by, as he usually was whenever he was seriously wounded. The older elf scrutinized him quietly for some moments, then, finally, he smiled. "Welcome back, my prince," he said warmly.

Legolas smiled back at him, but the smile did not reach his eyes and they were both aware of it. "It is good to see you," Legolas answered, and he meant it. The idea of never seeing his father, Nestadren, and other friends again before his death had hurt more than he cared to remember.

Legolas hesitated, but then he forced himself to face what he feared most. "Nestadren, there is something I need to know. Estel… is he…?"

He could not speak on, but he knew that Nestadren understood. The expression in the healer's eyes changed slightly, but Legolas was unable to interpret it. Apprehension? Sorrow? Compassion? Nestadren's lips parted, and Legolas could not help tensing in a vain effort to steel himself against whatever the healer was going to say.

"I am here," a soft voice spoke up suddenly from the other side of the bed.

Legolas froze. His eyes searched Nestadren's face, but the healer obviously had not said anything, and he was looking at someone or something behind his patient. Legolas turned his head so quickly that a muscle in his neck cramped. On a bed a short distance away from his own lay a familiar figure propped up against some pillows.

Aragorn looked back at him with a half-smile on his face and relief in his eyes. The only thing Legolas could do was stare at him, an expression of shock on his face. The man was still almost as pale as he remembered him, but otherwise he seemed to be well, and a book on his lap indicated that he had been reading until now.

It seemed almost impossible that this was the same man who had been only a hair's breadth away from dying the last time Legolas had seen him. The elf had not believed that he would ever meet Estel again in this life, even if he had implored Thranduil to save his friend. He had never felt Aragorn die, but then he had been unconscious for long periods of time, and with the need to protect his friend the strong connection between them seemed to be gone, too.

Legolas had never really doubted that the man was dead – not after feeling his friend's life slowly drain away during the fight and before. He could not have survived, and yet here he was. Legolas did not dare look away for even a moment. A part of him could not help fearing that he was still dreaming and the image in front of him would vanish if he even so much as blinked.

While the elf's mind was still trying to wrap itself around the realization that his friend had somehow, against all odds, managed to survive, his heart began to beat faster when a timid hope began to grow and take roots. He continued staring at Estel's face as if wanting to compare each line, each plane, each feature to his memory and make sure that what he saw was real.

Aragorn did not shy away from the almost desperate intensity of the elf's gaze, but met it unflinchingly, understanding in his eyes. He, too, remembered their last moments together, when they both had been convinced that this would be a final goodbye. He also could not fail to notice the almost palpable shadow of grief and sadness that seemed to cover up both his friend's natural elven glow and the usual brightness of his eyes.

The ranger was very aware of what believing him to be dead a second time in only two weeks must have done to the elf. He could never entirely forget that elves could die from grief – it was a love and a loyalty he had come to both fear and admire. Aragorn still remembered the cold fright of the moment when he had woken up for the first time and found Legolas lying on the bed right beside him, eyes closed and looking far worse than at the time he had freed his friend from the orcs' camp.

Luckily, the elf had been already out of the worst danger at that time, and Nestadren had been quickly able to convince Aragorn of it. Learning what Legolas had done after he had lost consciousness had been the second and almost worse shock for the human. What his friend must have gone through for his sake was nothing he even wanted to think about.

Nestadren's report of how and in what state they had found Legolas had made his blood run cold and would probably haunt his dreams for days to come. To see Legolas awake again and hear his voice after all that had happened to them was a gift he cherished, and the only thing that was truly able to calm his worries. It was easy for Aragorn to understand how much more difficult things must be for Legolas, who until now had believed him to be dead, and had already fallen into grief because of it.

After a while, Legolas relaxed slightly, hesitantly, and the shock in his eyes gave way to wonder. "You are alive," he managed to whisper, unable to deny any longer what his heart and his eyes told him.

"Yes, I am," Aragorn replied gently. "Very much so."

Legolas kept staring at him. A hint of fear and doubt kept nagging at his mind. His dearest wish had come true, and yet he could not help feeling slightly lost and confused, almost overwhelmed by a situation that could not be true and yet seemed to be.

Reading the varying and conflicting emotions flickering in Legolas' eyes and instantly understanding the reason for them, Aragorn added quietly, but firmly: "I am no dream. I swear to you I am real – though I fear I am not able to get you out of here just yet."

A sudden change in Legolas' eyes told him that the elf remembered immediately when he had used those words for the first time, and why. Legolas calmed visibly, and the doubt vanished slowly from his eyes. For a long moment he looked at the ranger wonderingly, then, suddenly, he began to smile. The smile was so radiant and filled with joy that it lightened Aragorn's heart and made him smile as well.

His weakness and his injuries forgotten for the moment, Legolas made to sit up and rise, only to realize that his body refused to cooperate with him. A sudden piercing pain in his leg made him feel as if he had just been hit by another arrow, and he slumped back into his pillow with a gasp, just as Nestadren grabbed his shoulders to press him back down. Feeling completely exhausted from the ridiculously small exertion, Legolas murmured almost happily, "This can be no dream. No dream can hurt _that_ much."

He turned his head again to look at Aragorn, who had risen on one elbow and was watching him worriedly. The elf gifted him with a short, reassuring smile. Satisfied that his friend had taken no serious harm, Aragorn relaxed back into the pillows that were propped up behind him, allowing him to remain in a half-sitting position.

"Indeed it is no dream," Nestadren answered, frowning down at his patient. "I hope this has at least taught you not to move again, or to do anything even more foolish like trying to stand up. Besides, I can assure you that Estel is very much alive. He has been harassing me with questions about the way the poison works and the ingredients of the antidote from the moment he first woke up, and since then we have been arguing about ways to improve it."

Legolas had to smile at that. "Then it must be him," he commented weakly. "Even half-dead that ranger can be more annoying than anyone else I know."

"I think black squirrels are much more annoying than an antidote," Aragorn murmured.

Ignoring him completely Legolas met Nestadren's gaze. "I take it the antidote is improved now?" he asked pleasantly.

Nestadren's frown deepened. "It is," the healer admitted reluctantly.

Legolas enjoyed his old friend's uneasiness for some seconds before he became serious again and his gaze sought Aragorn's face once more. The pain in his head and thigh had increased, and on top of his weakness he was beginning to feel very tired again. Before he had to give in to sleep once more there were some answers he needed.

"But… how?" he asked softly. "How is this possible? The last time I saw you, you… you were dying." Just speaking the words made his heart ache, but the sight of his friend alive and seemingly well in front of him lessened the pain.

Aragorn and Nestadren exchanged a glance, and the ranger nodded slightly to show that he wanted the healer to do the talking. After all, Nestadren had been there, while Aragorn only found his way back to consciousness when he was already lying in a healing room in the Palace.

The healer scrutinized his royal patient's face for a moment longer, trying to judge his state. Not entirely pleased with what he saw, but aware that Legolas needed to know what had happened, he finally began to speak.

"About four days after you had left to meet Estel, Tuilinn came limping back to the Palace," he said. "He had many injuries, and was practically dead on his feet. His hooves were coated in black blood, so it was easy for us to guess what had happened."

Seeing the worry in Legolas' eyes, Nestadren added, "Your stallion will recover completely, though I truly do not envy the healer who had to take care of him."

Legolas smiled at him gratefully, and Nestadren went on, "You know your father. He immediately summoned all warriors who were here and able to leave on short notice and me as well. He only waited until I had gathered all the antidotes and medicines I thought I might need, had us grab our weapons and mount our horses, and galloped out of the gates at the head of our small troupe."

The healer did not mention that none of them had really needed any prodding, as they all had seen Tuilinn and were only too well aware of what situation their prince might be in, if he still lived at all. Nestadren himself had not doubted that Thranduil would have somehow been able to feel his son's death, so he had banned any thoughts of finding only a corpse from his mind.

The healer had had no intention of losing the young elf the same way he had lost so many of his friends and his family so many years ago, as long as there was anything he could do to prevent it. Nestadren did not like to remember the following ride. The worst about it had not been any hardship it posed for any of them, but that they were unable to move as fast as they wanted to.

They could not risk driving their horses or themselves to exhaustion as long as they did not know how many enemies they would be up against. More warriors would follow them as soon as possible, but for the moment the elves' numbers were small. The delay had been hard for them all, but Thranduil suffered most in the days it took them to reach the Forest Gate.

The king had not once spoken about his feelings or what might await them once they had arrived at their destination, but Nestadren was quite sure that Thranduil had been unable to find any sleep, even though he seemed to be resting like the others did. When it was his turn to watch, the king would always stand at the edge of the camp, never sitting down, staring out into the dark forest as if listening or searching for something.

While Nestadren had done his best not to think about what the loss of Legolas would mean for his own heart, he had been well aware of what consequences Legolas' death would have for Thranduil and his entire kingdom. Those few days had been long and dark and filled with worry and fear for all of them.

Nestadren sighed and shook himself out of his dark memories, knowing it would do no one any good if he dwelled on them, resuming his tale instead. "When we finally arrived at the Forest Gate, we had to search around for a while until we found out where the battle had taken place. The orcs seemed to have taken their dead with them, and they tried to hide the body of Estel's horse, but they did not make much effort to cover their traces and the trees still remembered the fight.

Some of us wanted to follow the orcs' trail, but Thranduil held them back. Afterwards, your father went a short way into the forest, either to think or to commune with the trees, I do not know. When he came back he immediately ordered us to mount our horses and led us back right the way we had come, until he suddenly swerved into the forest. All of us could now hear the trees calling out to us, asking us to make haste, and we did."

The mad ride through the gloomy forest, trying to stay on the heels of a king whose stallion suddenly seemed to have grown wings was another memory Nestadren did not value overmuch, but this time he lost no time thinking about it.

"We arrived just at the right moment to see a big orc aim at you – or rather, what was left of you - with a crossbow," he went on, his voice slightly hoarse. "The king had his longbow in his hands before I could even rein my horse in, and the arrow left the string before the first orc even so much as noticed our presence. The arrow pierced the orc's arm and he missed you by a hair's breadth. Your father drove his horse right into the middle of those orcs, and the rest of us followed him immediately."

"So that is why the arrow did not kill me," Legolas murmured. "I knew he was aiming to kill that time. What happened then?"

Nestadren hesitated, and once again he and Aragorn exchanged a glance. "Do you remember anything of what happened next?" the healer asked finally.

Legolas frowned, trying to concentrate as far as tiredness and his muddled memories allowed. "Not much," he confessed then. "There was something like a red mist in front of my eyes, and I was no longer able to think clearly. I was not aware of much else but the pain… but I think there was another orc trying to attack me. I wounded him and he vanished, and then my father was kneeling in front of me, though I did not recognize him at first."

The healer nodded slowly. "That orc was no orc, but a member of your father's guard trying to approach you," he informed the younger elf gently.

Legolas stared at him. "I… I attacked an elf?" he asked, stunned.

"Not really," Nestadren answered, trying to soothe his charge. "Due to the advanced stage of the poison and your wounds, you were in a state that made it impossible for you to recognize who or what he was."

"He is not… is he… dead?" Legolas asked anxiously.

"No," the healer hastened to reassure him. "He is alive and well and does not hold anything against you. Nothing of this was your fault."

Legolas closed his eyes, both shaken and infinitely relieved. His fault or not, he did not know how he would have been able to live with the knowledge that he had killed another elf, who had risked his life trying to rescue him. He felt Nestadren's hand on his shoulder and was grateful for the silent support. He opened his eyes again and met the healer's concerned gaze. "Tell him I am sorry," he said quietly.

"I will," Nestadren answered, his eyes softening, "but I believe he is already aware of that."

"I remember almost nothing after my father spoke to me," Legolas said softly. "I do not even remember his words. I did not believe that I would ever wake up again, or that-" He broke off, his gaze straying to Estel's face once more, as if to make sure that his friend was still there.

"Given the state you were in, that does not surprise me," Nestadren commented. "When I first caught sight of you and Estel I had not much hope that we would be able to save either of you. Our attack surprised the orcs so much that we managed to drive them away for a while. After you had collapsed, I treated both you and Estel to the best of my abilities, and then we decided to bring you back to the Palace. I was not happy about having to move either of you, but it was still better than waiting for the orcs to come back."

Nestadren fell silent for a while, and a shadow seemed to fall over his face. For him, what followed had been the darkest moments, when he had begun to believe that they had been too late after all and that all his considerable skills would not be enough this time.

"You were both at death's door." He looked at Legolas. "I could not do much for Estel but administer the antidote and hope that it was not too late. I believe the fact that he himself treated his wound with athelas before may have helped, though I am still not sure how he found the strength to fight his way back. Even when I first examined him, he was still fighting the poison each step of the way. Nonetheless, he would not have survived through the rest of that day."

Legolas turned his head, searching and meeting Aragorn's gaze. He smiled at his human friend warmly. "I will never complain about you being stubborn again, ranger," he said.

"Neither will I ever complain about your mule-headedness again, elf," Aragorn replied, smiling back at him fondly.

Legolas frowned at him and looked then at Nestadren questioningly. "Why is he suddenly in a better state than I am?" he asked. "The last time I saw him he was almost dead, but he has obviously woken up a long time before me."

"Well, he was not shot with a poisoned arrow after he had already been poisoned, he did not receive several wounds fighting dozens of orcs, he did not lose any blood in the same fight, he did not almost die from grief, and he had not been weakened before by spending some days in the captivity of orcs," Nestadren answered dryly.

Legolas blinked. "The arrow was poisoned?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, it was," the healer confirmed. "You obviously caused enough trouble for the orcs that they decided to risk poisoning you anew." There was a hint of pride in his voice, though Nestadren's face was stern and his eyes still shadowed by dark memories.

"We almost lost you more than once. You were so weak that you would have succumbed to grief right then and there, if Thranduil had not used all his considerable power to draw you back and keep you with us. Even then, he could not cure your grief, but only try to hold on to you."

Nestadren did not mention that he had almost feared to lose both king and prince for some time, as Thranduil had given Legolas all the strength he had without regard to his own welfare. But the king's determination had won the battle, and he had recovered quickly.

"After the king had managed to stabilize you, you still had twice as much poison in your veins as Aragorn did, and you had not been treated with athelas. I needed days to clean the poison from your blood, and in the beginning we had to stop frequently to treat you anew or wait until another crisis had passed."

Legolas listened silently, perhaps only now realizing what their rescuers must have gone through since he had collapsed into his father's arms.

"The poison is gone now," Nestadren added, reading the silent question in the younger elf's eyes. "You are only suffering from the after-effects of both the poison and the grief – and the wounds, of course."

Again, Legolas did not comment on the healer's words. While listening to Nestadren recounting the events after they had first been found, he had realized for the first time that something important was missing – something he should have missed right away, or at least much earlier. It told him more about his condition than anything the healer had said so far.

"Where is Adar?" he asked, suddenly afraid that Thranduil might have exhausted himself in his fight for his son's life, or that he had been wounded in the fight with the orcs and Nestadren had chosen not to mention it to him. His father was not likely to leave his side voluntarily after he had been wounded.

For a moment the only answer was silence, then Nestadren turned away and stepped to a table cluttered with herbs and bandages which stood near Legolas' bed. Increasingly worried, Legolas looked at Aragorn instead, but the man's gaze rested on Nestadren, and so Legolas looked back at the healer as well.

"The king has gone… hunting," Nestadren finally said in a voice that showed nothing of his feelings. He began mixing some herbs and crushing them with a pestle.

_To be continued…_

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_Well, Aragorn is definitely very alive and now only the king is missing. I think it isn't difficult to guess what he's doing right now. ;-)_

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Additional Author's Notes (for the _very_ curious):

(1) _Characters_: Tuilinn and Nestadren are original characters of mine. Tuilinn is Legolas' horse, a big grey stallion who is known both for his speed and his ornery character. The name means 'swallow'. Tuilinn was first introduced in my "Dawn of Friendship"-collection. Nestadren had his first and only appearance so far in "Winter Solstice".

(2) _Travel Distances_: I did my best to keep the distances between places and the times needed to cover them realistic throughout this story. The necessary information was taken from Karen Wynn Fonstad's "The Atlas of Tolkien's Middle-Earth" and Pentangle-linnon's text "Horse Distances in ME". Any mistakes I made are my own fault. ;-)

(3) _Thranduil's Caverns_: For the record: my description of the Palace is at least partly AU. I simply can't see my wood-elves living entirely in caves, even for the sake of safety. The caverns are still there, but Thranduil and his people only live in them permanently when they are under attack.

(4) _Aragorn's Identity_: Aragorn is known to the elves in Mirkwood as Estel, adoptive son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, but Thranduil and Nestadren are aware of his true identity.


	12. A King's Wrath

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you once again to everyone who took the time to read and review my previous chapter(s), the contact with readers/authors is something I've always especially loved about fanfiction! (hugs) Anon, Mrs. Staffel, and eli, thank you so much for your reviews, they are very appreciated! In the following chapter you'll learn a bit more about what Thranduil did and where he is now. I hope you'll enjoy! Feedback is very welcome. :)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I still don't own them, but Nestadren is mine! (wraps herself happily around elf)_

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**Chapter Twelve: A King's Wrath**

"_Best friends listen to what you don't say."  
_Samantha Norman

Legolas stared at the healer's back, alarmed. In spite of his tiredness he immediately understood what Nestadren's words meant. "He has done _what_?" he asked, not bothering to hide his sudden fear. "Those orcs are dangerous and there might be more of them. Does he even know-"

As he just began to instinctively struggle into a sitting position once again, Nestadren was back at his side, pressing him down before he could do more than raise his head from the pillow.

"He _does_ know, Legolas," Aragorn spoke up beside his friend. "I had been awake for some time when he left and I told him everything that had happened to us. He knows the orders the orcs have been given. It was one of the reasons why he left."

Slowly, Legolas calmed down again and stopped struggling uselessly against Nestadren's firm grip on his shoulders. "You could have told me before," he said, glaring at the healer.

"Knowing how you would react I did not want to tell you at all, if possible," Nestadren remarked, unimpressed. "Right now I want you to rest, not to become agitated. There would have been enough time to speak about your father later on, after you had regained some strength."

"I told you it would not work," Aragorn commented from behind Nestadren's back.

"I really do not know what I have done to deserve both of you as my patients," the healer snapped, returning to his pestle and mortar.

"How long has he been gone?" Legolas asked, not willing to be distracted.

"Three days," Aragorn answered, "and he took a large contingent of warriors with him."

Legolas sighed. Thranduil would be away for at least three more days, probably longer, and he did not think he would be able to entirely stop worrying until his father had returned safely. What he had suffered from the hands of the orcs was still much too close for him to want anyone he cared for anywhere near them, however unfounded those worries might be.

He felt the ranger's gaze on him and turned his head to meet it. There was silent understanding in Aragorn's eyes, and Legolas felt a bit comforted by it. "You have already been awake for three days?" Legolas asked after some moments.

"Four," Nestadren corrected without looking up from his work. "He woke up for the first time only hours after we reached the Palace."

"I only stayed conscious long enough to start worrying about you," Aragorn said with a smile. "But one day later I managed to tell your father what had happened to us. I wanted to make sure that no other elf would ever fall into the hands of those orcs again."

That the orcs would find a substitute for him had been one of Legolas' worst fears, and Aragorn had been well aware of it. The elf knew that his friend had fought his way through the story for both of them, though he had very likely still been in a rather bad state, and gratitude shone in his eyes.

Legolas understood that his father could not have reacted in any other way but to leave as soon as possible and hunt the orcs down, both to exact revenge and to ensure that none of his subjects would be forced to suffer a fate worse than death. Thranduil was not a king who would send anyone else on a mission such as that, especially when his family was concerned.

"I do not think you need to tell me how my father reacted," Legolas said with a smile.

Nestadren turned around at that, looking at him. "He left the moment I could assure him that you would survive and recover completely. I could not even order him out of this room before that."

"I know," Legolas said simply. After all, he would have done the same thing.

"I think I really would not like to be an orc now," Aragorn remarked, remembering only too well the expression on Thranduil's face after he had learned what had happened to his son. There had been many emotions on the king's face while the ranger recounted the events of the last week – shock, pain, sorrow, and finally wrath.

Being faced with the unbridled rage in the elf's eyes, Aragorn had found himself glad that he had never been on the king's bad side before and would hopefully never be. Thranduil had calmed quickly, hiding his emotions behind the usual stoic mask, but his eyes had been colder than Aragorn had thought the eyes of an elf could ever be.

The king had sat there quietly for a moment, lost in thought, then he had risen and walked over to his son, simply standing beside the younger elf and looking down at the still face for a long time. When he finally turned around again he still did not say a single word, but Aragorn read a deep, heartfelt gratitude in the eyes that met his. There had been no need for any words between them.

One day later, after Nestadren had declared Legolas out of danger, Thranduil had left for a short time and walked back into the room soon afterwards armed and ready for battle, the cold fire back in his eyes. No one was surprised when he remarked that it was time to 'go hunting'. He had rested one hand lightly on his son's head for a moment, as if in a silent blessing, then he had looked at Nestadren and said simply, "I leave my son in your hands, healer."

"I will guard him with my life, my king," was the quiet answer.

The king had taken one step back, looking from the pale, sick human to the pale, sick elf and back again. "They will pay," he promised, and then he had left without a backward glance. Moments later Aragorn and Nestadren heard the distant clatter of hooves from the direction of the great courtyard as the king and his warriors left to exact revenge.

Part of Aragorn, weak as he was, had wanted to ride with them; but even if he had been up to it, his desire to look into his friend's familiar blue eyes and hear his soft voice teasing him again had been infinitely stronger than his hunger for revenge could ever be. And, what was even more important, he knew that Legolas' need to see _him_ and know that he was alive was even greater than his own need to see that his friend was well, or at least would be.

Nestadren had made it quite clear that Legolas' body would not be able to truly recover until his spirit was cured from the devastating grief over Aragorn's 'death', which was still poisoning the elf's soul. Knowing that his friend had been ready to defend him to his last breath, whatever the cost to himself, and that the elf would eventually have died from grief even if he had somehow survived the battle still made Aragorn feel as if cold fingers were closing around his heart and starting to squeeze.

The ranger shook himself from his thoughts and turned his head, needing to make sure that Legolas was still there, awake, and to see the renewed light and the life in his eyes. The elf had been silent for a while now and he looked exhausted. His face was nearly as pale as the sheets and there were still shadows in his eyes, but the all-encompassing sadness and the traces of despair and hopelessness were gone.

Aragorn knew that not all the shadows were caused by grief. Some of them he had already seen shortly after rescuing Legolas from the orcs and he was just as determined to see them vanish forever as he had been then. Looking closer, the ranger noticed another emotion in his friend's face. The elf was worried, and Aragorn was easily able to guess at the cause for it.

"He will be safe," he said gently, and added after a short pause, "If you want to worry about someone, you should worry about the orcs instead."

Legolas' gaze met his, a strange mixture of gratitude, amusement, and annoyance in his tired eyes. The elf was aware that his worry was unfounded and unnecessary, knowing how formidable a warrior his father was and that he was likely accompanied by a large group of the best warriors of the realm, but he simply could not help it.

He had come too close to losing something he cherished forever, and he was still reeling from the effect both the grief and the fear had had on him. He was glad for Aragorn's attempt to both help and distract him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to have everyone he cared for safe and within his reach, but he was well aware that it made no sense to wish for something that was impossible to have.

"The day I start worrying about any orc I might as well begin to start dressing as a ranger," he answered his friend, a weak smile playing around his lips.

Aragorn did his best to try and look affronted. "Is there something wrong with the way a ranger is dressed?"

Nestadren and Legolas exchanged a glance. "Not if you like mud, and dust, and dark colours," the younger elf responded with a straight face.

"Sometimes I wonder if there is a water shortage on the other side of the mountains," Nestadren added, his face as unreadable as usual, his concentration on the herbs in the pestle in front of him.

Aragorn frowned at him, but as he found himself completely ignored he looked back at Legolas instead. "Now who is the one who can be really annoying even when he is half-dead?" he asked the clearly amused elf.

"Both of you are," Nestadren retorted without a moment's hesitation.

Before Aragorn could come up with a suitable answer, he noticed that Legolas' eyelids were drooping. The elf was clearly fighting against sleep by now, a sleep his body urgently seemed to need. Nestadren turned around, looking down at the younger elf, and not for the first time Aragorn wondered if the healer had eyes in the back of his head.

"You should go back to sleep now, my prince," the healer said, for once choosing to use his charge's official title. "Your body needs rest, at least if you do not want to be more than half-dead."

Legolas was too tired by now to even glare at Nestadren, but Aragorn still saw hesitation in his eyes. Unconsciously, the elf's gaze wandered to his friend, and suddenly the man understood. Legolas was obviously not willing to let him out of his sight just yet, as if fearing that Aragorn might suddenly vanish when he closed his eyes, or perhaps the elf still had not entirely overcome the fear that all of this might be nothing more than a dream, pleasant, but unreal.

"I am not going anywhere," he said softly, holding his friend's gaze and trying to banish the traces of doubt and uncertainty he read there with the strength of the truth in his heart. "I will be right here. I promise."

Legolas could not help but relax at those words and at what he saw in Aragorn's eyes. He remembered his own certainty that the ranger would not break his promise to him even in a dream. The elf's worry faded away and he smiled, grateful for his friend's understanding. He searched his friend's eyes for a moment longer, then he nodded slightly.

"I think I should probably rest for a while," he murmured, and his eyes drifted shut almost instantly as he finally gave in to his exhaustion.

The sight of a very pale Legolas lying beside him once again with his eyes closed sent an unexpected stab of fear through Aragorn's heart, but he quickly took control of his wayward emotions. In his mind he knew that the elf was only sleeping and that it was a dearly needed, healing sleep; he could only hope that his heart would come to the same conclusion, given some time. Right now there was only one thing that still worried him and he turned to Nestadren, a silent question in his eyes.

Nestadren watched Legolas for a long, intense moment, wanting to make sure that the younger elf stayed asleep, and using all his senses to judge his patient's condition. Finally satisfied, he stepped closer to the bed, straightening the blanket and pulling it up to Legolas' chin. The healer's eyes softened while they rested on the face of the younger elf, whom he had known since the day of his birth, and suddenly he seemed quite weary himself. Weary and relieved. Only now sensing Aragorn's eyes on him, Nestadren raised his head and met the human's gaze.

"The worst is over," he assured quietly, a hint of a smile on his face. "That kind of grief cannot be cured overnight, but its hold on him has been broken and he should recover quickly now."

Aragorn nodded, unable to suppress a relieved sigh. In spite of his being a healer, he felt helpless and inexperienced when he was faced with typical elvish maladies that infected the soul rather than the body, and he despised feeling that way. Luckily, this time he himself had been all the cure that was needed. He hoped with all his heart that he would never have to see the dark shadow of grief in his best friend's eyes again.

Nestadren had seen that shadow more often in his long life than he cared to recall, and he knew all there was to know about trying to cure it, or at least keeping an elf alive long enough to reach the Grey Havens, but there was no way he would ever get used to it - especially not when someone he loved as dearly as his prince threatened to fall under that shadow.

To see the bright light and the hope die in an elf's eyes and watch his body wither away right along with his spirit was one of the worst things he had ever had to bear witness to, and in times as dark as these he was quite sure that he would have to face it again. But by the grace of Ilúvatar it would not be today.

The healer turned his attention back to the man in front of him and scrutinized the still-too-pale face for a moment, noting both the relief and the tiredness in the grey eyes which were still fixed on the elven prince in the bed beside him.

"I believe you should also try to get some rest, Ranger of the North," Nestadren remarked. "Your body is obviously in need of it."

Aragorn looked at him, an instinctive spark of resistance flaring in his eyes. It was met by an unyielding sternness that reminded him uncannily of another elven healer he happened to know and made him realize that 'no' would not be taken as an answer. With another sigh, he put his book aside and rearranged the pillows behind him until he was once again lying rather than sitting in his bed.

"You have not, perhaps, spent a considerable amount of time in Imladris during the last centuries, have you?" the ranger asked, while he shifted down and around until he finally felt comfortable in his new position.

"As a matter of fact, I have not," the healer replied evenly. "I do, however, know Lord Elrond, and I happen to approve of many of his ways to treat a patient."

"I see," Aragorn murmured, having to suppress a groan at the knowing smile on the elf's face. Obviously all elven healers shared the same inherent talent of being able to intimidate their patients and impose their will on others – or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the best elven healers all seemed to have been fearsome warriors before they ever became interested in the art of healing and saving lives.

Turning to his side, so he could keep an eye on the sleeping elf only a few steps away from him, he wondered if he would ever be that kind of healer. Being able to intimidate his patients might be useful, but if he had to be a warrior for some millennia before he became anywhere near _that_ impressive he might have a problem. He was still mulling over it when he drifted off to sleep only moments later.

Nestadren stayed where he was for a while longer, looking from one of his patients to the other and back again, until he was finally convinced that both of them were truly and deeply asleep. Then he slowly walked to a chair on the other side of the room and lowered himself into it with a heartfelt sigh, closing his eyes. These last days had been enough to exhaust even the strongest elf, and he was quite sure that he would not have a moment's peace until his two patients had recovered sufficiently to at least leave the healing rooms.

Leaning back into his chair, he wondered idly whether he should pity Elrond or envy him. On the one hand, from what he had heard, the elf lord seemed to have those two in his healing rooms more often than not; on the other hand, he did not have to deal with two descendants of Oropher on a daily basis. Shrugging, the healer decided that they were obviously both cursed.

_To be continued…_

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_Poor healers. :D Well, it seems Thranduil was angry, but far from reckless. ;-) Now he just needs to come back before Legolas becomes worried enough to crawl after him. (g)_


	13. Daybreak

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! (hug) I hope you silent readers out there are enjoying the story, too. ;-) Here's the next chapter, feedback is very welcome and appreciated:)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I would be a very happy woman if they belonged to me, but I'm afraid they are still only borrowed. (wistful sigh)_

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**Chapter Thirteen: Daybreak**

"_A friend is someone who dances with you in the sunlight,  
and walks with you in the shadows."  
_(Unknown)

When Legolas awoke again, it was early dawn. For a moment he simply lay there, listening to the few gentle sounds of a world that would soon be roused from night's slumber by the first tentative rays of sunlight, and enjoying the absence of the persistent, burning pain both in his body and his heart. There was a peaceful silence all around him that told him that yesterday's storm had finally passed.

The trees in the garden were murmuring softly, waiting to drink in the light of a new day. He knew they would not begin their song before the sun had risen. The voice of one lone bird could be heard from somewhere in the forest, the notes of the sweet melody shimmering in the still air like drops of dew.

With a feeling of deep contentment Legolas opened his eyes, his head instinctively and unconsciously turning to the right as if drawn by an invisible force. His gaze alighted on a very awake ranger propped up on one elbow in the bed right next to his own, watching him. The elf blinked to clear the last remnants of drowsiness from his vision and let his eyes rest where they were, his lips turning upward into a soft smile.

Aragorn returned the smile, and for a long while they were content to just look at each other, effortlessly reading and understanding the emotions in each other's eyes, both deeply grateful to still _be_ here, together. Then Aragorn moved his blankets aside and sat up in his bed, preparing to do what he had wanted to do since yesterday.

Breaking their eye-contact to cast a wary glance at the door, he rose, crossed the short distance to his friend's bed, and lowered himself down on it gingerly at Legolas' side, not wanting to jar the elf. He was quite sure that Legolas barely felt any pain right now, but he was not willing to risk hurting his friend. Without a word, he took one of Legolas' hands in his own and laced his fingers through the elf's, squeezing the slender hand gently.

Legolas had followed each of the man's moves curiously and without any comment. Now his gaze left his friend's face for the first time, irresistibly drawn to their entwined hands, his eyes brimming with emotions and memories. This and what it stood for had been his lifeline for long, dark days and nights. Aragorn's support, his trust, and his understanding had given him more than he could ever express in words.

His friend had helped him to reclaim himself after the living nightmare of his captivity, and to hold on to his sanity during the long days of being hunted by their enemies, instead of getting lost in the labyrinth of his rage and his fear. Even if he had somehow managed to escape on his own, which would have been all but impossible due to the strict way he was guarded, he doubted that he would have been able to get very far, poisoned, without weapons, and trapped in the hell of his own nightmares and churning emotions as he was.

Unconsciously he returned the pressure of the man's fingers, using the warm touch to anchor himself in the present and shove the still-too-close memories of darker days away.

"How are you?" Aragorn asked softly, and Legolas knew he was not asking about the wounds to his body.

The elf looked up and met the gaze of familiar grey eyes, which could be both gentle and fierce, compassionate and piercing. There was a hint of worry in them now, and a patient determination that told him that his friend would insist on getting an answer to his question, however long it might take.

Those eyes were still the eyes of the small boy who had often looked at him with the same worry and the same insistence many years ago, and he could recognize traces and characteristics of the boy in the features of the grown man in front of him. Once again, he wondered how this mortal had managed to worm his way into his guarded heart so quickly and effortlessly.

Legolas had known many men and spent time in their company before Aragorn was even born, he had fought with men and sometimes against them, but he had always kept his distance and they had, too. There had been respect, but it had never turned into friendship – until a little boy with solemn grey eyes and tangled black curls came along and latched on to him, refusing to let go. To his surprise, Legolas had soon found that he did not want to let go, either.

When he had first learned about his son's strange new friendship with a human child, Thranduil had been very worried. In fact, he had already been worried about Legolas' decision to befriend the sons of Elrond some centuries earlier, and had done his best to ensure that his son was aware of the risk he was taking – Elrond's children had not yet made the choice all Peredhil had to face one time: the choice between a mortal or an immortal fate, and that meant that Legolas might very well lose his friends to a mortal death one day.

Thranduil had not wanted his son having to go through such a pain when it could be avoided, but, different from his father, Legolas had found out quickly that his mind did not have much to say anymore once his heart had made a decision. He had also realized that he did not want to live any other way.

Looking at Aragorn now, Legolas knew without a doubt that their friendship and every moment they were able to spend together was worth each and every bit of pain he would have to face for it in a hopefully distant future. He would rather face the devastating grief that had almost crushed him during those last days again than give up even one day of their time together.

Feeling the gaze of those grey eyes drill straight into his soul, he thought about Aragorn's question for a moment, knowing that the man would not accept anything but complete honesty. "I will be alright," he said finally, sincerely.

Noticing both that Legolas had not claimed to _be_ alright, and that he seemed to have no doubts that he would get there, Aragorn felt himself relax and inclined his head slightly to show that he was satisfied with the answer. There were many things he still wanted to say, but he realized quickly that there was no real need to verbalize most of them. Legolas knew he could talk to Aragorn whenever he needed to, and the elf knew the ranger's feelings and his heart better than anyone else. In the end, there were only two words that needed to be spoken.

"Thank you," the man said, still holding the elf's gaze.

"What for?" Legolas asked, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"For my life," Aragorn answered quietly. "You protected me when the orcs found us. If you had not been able to fight them as long as you did, and hold on until help arrived, we would both be dead now – or worse," he added, knowing what would have happened to Legolas if he had not died in the fight.

Legolas averted his gaze, not wanting to remember those endless moments and the barely healed wounds they had left on his soul, or to bare the still-too-raw feelings that he knew would be showing clearly in his eyes to his friend. After a moment of composing himself, he answered, "You have yourself to thank more than me."

He was still not looking at his friend, but he could feel the man's questioning gaze boring into him. "I was only able to hold on because you were there and because you were still alive. You gave me something to fight for and to hold on to." He turned his head and met his friend's gaze. "You saved me just as much as I saved you."

After some moments of silence between them, the elf added, "Not to forget that my father saved both of us in the end. I am glad he was there. If a patrol had found us instead… I might have killed them, or at least some of them."

Not missing the flicker of pain in his friend's eyes, Aragorn gently squeezed the hand he still held. "It was the poison, not you," he said firmly. "Besides, you did not kill anyone, and we are here now."

Legolas hesitated, both unable and reluctant to dismiss the guilt of having wounded one of his rescuers that easily; but, seeing the conviction and the resolution in Aragorn's eyes, he finally nodded and gave in. Whatever had happened and might have happened, it was over now.

Still looking at his friend, Legolas suddenly realized something that had not occurred to him until now. "Are you supposed to be out of bed?" he asked, a hint of amusement breaking through his previously sombre mood.

Aragorn cast another glance at the door and shrugged. "Not really," he admitted, "but I can see no reason why two steps out of bed could harm my recovery."

"Perhaps you should go back before you find out what Nestadren has to say about that," Legolas suggested.

"Perhaps I should," Aragorn agreed.

They looked at each other, but neither of them moved, both suddenly unwilling to break the link between them just yet. "I believe I will stay a while longer," the ranger remarked, conceding defeat.

For a while, they spoke softly about things that had nothing to do with orcs or growing shadows, listened to the chorus of birds outside, and watched as the grey twilight gave way to the bright colours of a new day. When Aragorn finally prepared to rise and return to his own bed, the sound of a door opening stopped him in his tracks.

"What are you doing out of bed?" a voice barked, making the ranger wince and curse his bad luck.

----------

Three days later, Nestadren had come to the conclusion that keeping his patients alive had been the easy part of his task. Getting them to stay in a bed or the healing rooms was a much greater challenge. He knew that the poison had taken its toll on both of them, and that they still needed to rest as much as possible and to take it slow for some time to come, but it seemed he was the only one able to understand that. Since they had begun to feel better, both of his patients were seriously trying his patience.

Two days ago he had allowed Aragorn out of bed, and the human at least had been a bit easier to handle since then. Legolas was still forced by both his injuries and his healer's orders to spend most of his time in bed, and since the ranger had rarely left his friend's side it had been easy to keep an eye on him. Legolas, however, had become more and more frustrated by being trapped indoors and being confined to his bed and this room, and he made no effort at all to hide his displeasure.

In spite of his being a healer himself, Aragorn was no help at all in guarding his friend, as assisting the prince to escape into the Queen's Garden for some hours yesterday had proven. For an instant, Nestadren had been assaulted by a cold, terrible fear upon finding the room empty, but logic had quickly prevailed and he had only needed to look out of the window to find his missing charges. For a moment he had almost believed that Legolas might have done something truly foolish and dangerous, like following his father into the forest.

He should have known better, but he had been tired and on edge for quite some time by then. Today he had made the decision to transfer Legolas back to his own chambers as soon as possible, hoping that the change in surroundings would calm his restless patient and give Nestadren some dearly needed peace and quiet.

The sound of laughter made Nestadren raise his head and look over to the other side of the room, where Aragorn sat on a chair beside Legolas, who rested against the headboard of his bed on some pillows. Whatever the human had just told him obviously seemed to be quite amusing to the elf.

"I cannot believe Elladan said that," he said, chuckling.

The ranger shrugged. "I was only a child – there was a certain probability that I would believe even an unlikely explanation."

Legolas smiled at his friend knowingly. "A child you might have been, but you were always much older than your years. He would have done well to remember that."

"I was never able to fool you, was I?"

"Never," the elf confirmed. "But then, you never tried."

Aragorn grinned at him. "I never told him, you know," he said.

They looked at each other and could not help laughing.

Watching the two of them now and seeing the mirth in their faces, and comparing that sight to the pale, motionless bodies that had been carried into the healing rooms days ago, much closer to death than to life, reminded Nestadren once again why he had chosen to become a healer after countless years of being a warrior and why it was worth all the hard work and the annoyances. He smiled, deciding that this was as good a moment as ever to tell Legolas that he would finally be able to escape this room today.

Before he could take more than one step in the direction of the younger elf, however, there was a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could answer, the door was pushed open, and a tall figure stepped into the room. The laughter ceased instantly, and three pairs of eyes fixed on the newcomer.

The elf who had just entered the room looked far from his usual self, but he was unmistakable nonetheless. The king's clothes were covered with dust from a long, fast ride, and they were also stained with mud and patches of dark blood. Thranduil still carried all of his weapons and there was a tiredness in the set of his usually proud shoulders and his eyes that bordered on exhaustion.

In spite of his worn-out appearance, the king still exuded strength and authority, and there was an impatience and urgent anxiety in his searching gaze that warned everyone in his right mind against trying to stop him. As soon as his eyes came to rest on his son, everything else in the room faded into insignificance. His piercing gaze was softened by a hint of wonder, followed by profound relief, when he noticed his son's healthy complexion and the light in the familiar blue eyes.

He seemed to take in every detail, studying his son closely as if wanting to make sure that no harm had come to him in his absence. Thranduil's rigid posture changed slightly as his tense muscles unconsciously began to relax.

"Adar?" Legolas asked softly, torn between joy at his father's return and worry about the king's appearance and the raw emotions that showed clearly in the older elf's usually carefully controlled features.

Without a word, Thranduil crossed the distance to his son's bed with three long strides, sitting down beside the younger elf and drawing him into a tight embrace. Legolas froze for a moment, stunned, but then he raised his arms and hugged his father back just as tightly. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the familiar warmth and strength that engulfed him for a long moment.

With a smile, Aragorn rose silently from his chair and withdrew to his own bed, providing the two of them with some measure of privacy. Nestadren looked from the king's dirtied clothes to the impeccably clean sheets and his recuperating patient and back again. Fleeting thoughts about the necessity of cleanness and sterile surroundings in a sickroom crossed his mind, but then he shook his head and sighed, suppressing a smile.

Some things were far more important than clean sheets and a clean patient, and to Legolas, his father was obviously one of them. Besides, a son of Oropher in that kind of mood was a force of nature, and Nestadren was not about to risk his neck by getting in his way. He saw Aragorn look at him with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, and for a moment the two healers understood each other perfectly.

"I am sorry I had to leave you," Thranduil whispered to his son, his voice rough. "There was nothing I wanted more than to stay here with you."

"I know," Legolas answered, not a hint of doubt in his voice. "I am glad you are back now."

Thranduil straightened and leaned back to be able to study his son's face once more, his hands resting lightly on the younger elf's shoulders. Obviously content with what he saw, he reached over his shoulder to grab something that was fastened on his back. Moving backwards a little so that there was some room between them, he put a large, cloth-wrapped bundle into his son's lap. With one quick move he turned the cloth back, uncovering what had been hidden inside it.

Tearing his gaze away from his father's face, Legolas looked down and found himself staring at a very familiar bow, quiver, and twin knives. His eyes widened, and then lit up with joy. He extended one hand, touching his weapons almost reverently, his fingers instinctively curling around the smooth wood of his trusted bow. He looked up, unable to speak.

Thranduil did not need any words to understand the expression in his son's eyes. "The ones who took them will not have use for any weapons ever again," he said quietly, grim satisfaction in his eyes.

Legolas took a deep breath, and nodded, feeling as if a heavy weight had been taken from his heart. Finally, the danger was over. The orcs had failed in their hunt, thanks to the determination of one man. No elf would fall into their hands ever again, and the borders were safe again, at least for now. Again, he did not say a word. He could feel his father's and Aragorn's gaze on him, but he refused to meet anyone's eyes, choosing to look at the weapons in his lap instead.

The orcs were dead, and his weapons had been returned to him. It felt like some sort of small victory, though he knew his memories would be slow in fading. He wished they would simply have died along with those who had caused them. Legolas rubbed his thumb over the polished wood of his bow, as if wanting to assure himself that it was really there. He had not expected to see his bow or any of his weapons ever again.

"I did not think they would even keep the bow," he said softly, and noticed suddenly that there was something strange about his bow. There was no stain on it, no smudge, nor was there any stench to indicate that it had ever been touched by the foul hands of orcs. He gripped the hilt of one of his knives and pulled it partly out of its sheath. The blade was shiny and sparkled even in the dim light of the room, obviously having been carefully cleaned and polished a short time ago.

This time he met his father's gaze, making no effort to hide the emotions shining in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Thranduil covered the hand that was still wrapped around the hilt of the knife with one of his own, squeezing gently. Letting go of his son's hand after a moment, he turned his head, looking around and acknowledging Nestadren and Aragorn's presence for the first time. The king rose slowly, nodding at both of them.

"You look much better than the last time I saw you," Thranduil remarked, studying the human's face.

"I am much better," Aragorn assured him with a smile.

The king turned to Nestadren as if looking for confirmation, and as the healer did not voice any objections, he said, "It seems you have guarded both of them well in my absence."

Understanding and accepting the unspoken gratitude in his king's eyes, Nestadren snorted. "I will gladly relinquish that burden as soon as possible," he commented dryly, but without any real trace of anger or annoyance in his voice.

Thranduil smiled, knowing from experience how difficult it could be to care for a recuperating Legolas, and that Aragorn was every bit as bad a patient as his son. The healer's choice of words and tone of voice showed him more clearly than anything else that there was no reason for worry any longer.

The last lingering traces of the nagging fear that had accompanied him since he had left the Palace days ago evaporated, leaving him suddenly very aware of his own weariness, the dust clinging to his skin, and numerous aches of small wounds and bruises he had sustained during the fight.

"Any wounded I should be prepared for?" Nestadren wanted to know, rousing Thranduil from his thoughts.

"Nothing serious, and no casualties," the king answered, feeling his son's intense gaze on him and wanting to reassure both him and Nestadren. "The orcs were not able to offer much resistance. We spent most of the time tracking those of them down who had fled from our assault."

"Good," Nestadren commented, pleased with the answer. The orcs had done enough damage already. He eyed the king for a long moment. "I think you could use a bath, a change of clothes, and at least some hours of uninterrupted sleep."

The look in Thranduil's eyes would have made anyone else flinch and consider a quick retreat, but the healer ignored it completely. No one else ever dared talk to Thranduil like Nestadren did, and sometimes the king was torn whether to be glad that there was at least one such elf in his court, or plan an untimely demise for said elf.

"He is right, you know," another voice spoke up, reminding Thranduil that his son could be just as insolent and persistent as the healer. Legolas tilted his head slightly, eying his father very much like Nestadren had done before.

"Right now you look very much like a ranger," he added, stifling a grin.

Thranduil and Aragorn both glared at him, but Legolas remained unfazed. Thranduil shook his head in a mixture of exasperation and wry amusement. "I think I had better leave now, before my son and my healer decide to take over the kingdom," he remarked.

"Do not come back before tomorrow," Legolas ordered, meeting his father's gaze unflinchingly, the previous humour gone from his eyes. "You look as if you have not had much rest for a long time."

The king frowned, never one to accept orders lightly. There was a short battle of wills, ending only when Thranduil spotted a hint of sadness and guilt in his son's eyes and understood that Legolas was very aware of the reason for his father's lack of sleep and could not help feeling responsible for it. Swallowing his pride, the king simply nodded.

"I will see you tomorrow," he said quietly, including all of them in his statement, but keeping his eyes on his son's face. He suddenly found himself unwilling to let Legolas out of his sight again so soon. Leaning forward, he drew the younger elf into another quick hug, promising himself that he would keep his duties at bay until he had spent enough time with his son to make them both feel whole again.

Legolas smiled up at him. "Sleep well," he said.

Thranduil turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Finally freed of all his worries, Legolas relaxed into his pillows. Suddenly, it no longer seemed important that he still wasn't allowed to get out of bed or leave this room. Somehow he felt certain that all in his world would be right again, given some time.

_To be continued…_

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_Well, everything and everyone is finally back where it/he belongs and characters and readers can finally relax. (g) Now there's only a short epilogue left. I have to say I'm going to miss posting this story. ;-)_


	14. Epilogue

_**Author's Note:**__ Well, here we are at the end of the story. I hope all who read it found something to enjoy in my little tale of friendship and adventure. I want to thank everyone who accompanied me through this story and especially those of you who reviewed and shared your thoughts with me! (((hug))) I would love to 'meet' you again one day in another story, but if I don't see you again I just want you to know how much I appreciated your support and how important it was for me:)_

_Here's the epilogue, I hope you'll enjoy reading it. And yes, feedback is still very welcome:D_

_**Disclaimer:**__ See Chapter One. I'll never own them, but I sure love borrowing them! ;-)_

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**Epilogue**

"_A friend is somebody you want to be around  
when you feel like being by yourself."_  
(Barbara Burrow)

Aragorn was sitting on a straw bale, leaning against the sun-warmed wood of the stable wall behind him and chewing idly on a blade of grass. One of his knees was raised and he had one arm draped across it, while his other leg dangled in the air. It was a beautiful day, filled with bright sunlight and the dazzling colours of spring. The sky was blue without a trace of clouds, and a soft wind was playing teasingly with strands of the man's curly dark hair.

Birds were singing in the nearby forest, there was the occasional humming of a big bumblebee flying by and the ranger was doing something he had always loved doing, and would never tire of: watching his best friend practice archery. Yesterday Legolas had been officially declared well again, and his first action early this morning had been to go straight to the archery field, as Aragorn had known it would be.

In fact, the place they were in now was not really an archery field, but simply a meadow behind some of the stables which the experienced warriors in Thranduil's court and army had taken to using for weapons practice when they wanted to be undisturbed and amongst themselves. Warriors who needed to regain their skills after a severe injury often chose this place for practicing instead of the usual training grounds in the big courtyard.

Today Legolas had the place entirely to himself, with Aragorn as his only audience. The ranger knew that that was the way the elf wanted – and needed - it to be. Legolas was clad in the usual green-and-brown garments of the woodland warriors, and he blended in with his surroundings perfectly. The sunlight seemed to be drawn to the elf's fair hair, turning the shining strands into molten gold.

Legolas was taking his time, and his movements were slow and unhurried. Aragorn was aware that his friend was not here to demonstrate his skills today, or even to practice, but to reclaim something that the orcs had tried very hard to take from him: his spirit, his strength, his belief in his skills and his abilities to defend himself and those he cared for. There had never been a better way for Legolas to regain his balance than practicing archery.

Bow and arrow were much more to the elf than merely his weapons of choice. Aragorn had always found that easy to see and understand, since a sword would likewise never be just a means to defend himself to him.

Legolas' skills with a bow were amazing, but more than that, bow and arrow seemed to be a natural extension of himself, reflecting the innate grace, poise, and calm of his soul. Also, the elf's lightning-quick reflexes when he shot arrows in quick succession and his ability to hit any target dead-on seemed to mirror the sharp intelligence of his mind, which anyone who had ever entered a discussion with him learned the hard way.

Legolas checked both the bow and the arrows he intended to use carefully, something he had done each day since his father had given them back to him, as if needing to reclaim them. There was still a quiet joy in the elf's eyes when his fingers closed around the familiar wood of his bow that showed just how much he had loathed knowing it lost and in the enemy's hands.

Finally content, Legolas assumed his usual fighting stance. Aragorn watched his friend shift his weight slightly, testing the strength of his barely healed leg and adjusting his stance accordingly. The elf raised his bow and drew the string back experimentally, this time testing his still-weakened left arm. A frown flitted across his calm face, showing that he was less than pleased with the result.

Looking at the target for the first time, he put an arrow on the string and drew it back as far as his weakened arm would allow. For a long moment he stayed like that, eyes fixed on the target, head tilted slightly to one side, bow and arrow seeming a natural part of him, body and weapon an image of harmony and balance. Aragorn leaned forward expectantly, putting his feet on the ground and resting his elbows on his knees, fingers playing with the blade of grass he had been chewing on. He had not seen his friend look so at peace with himself for too long a time, and it lightened his heart.

The straw bale dipped slightly under him as a new weight settled down beside him, but the ranger did not turn his head, having a good idea who had joined him and not wanting to miss the shot. Legolas' hair moved lightly in the breeze and his left arm began to shake imperceptibly. He took a deep breath and released the arrow, exhaling.

The green-fletched arrow cut through the air, humming as if pleased to be freed from its restraints, hitting the target a fraction of a second later with a resounding thud center-on. The arrow vibrated from the force of the impact, and three pairs of eyes watched it as if transfixed. Aragorn finally tore his gaze from the arrow and cast a short look at the newcomer at his side, realizing without surprise that the King of the Woodland Realm was sitting on the straw bale right beside him.

There was a hint of pride and contentment in Thranduil's eyes as he watched his son at his favourite pastime. Looking back at Legolas, the ranger saw the same contentment reflected in the younger elf's eyes as he studied the target, the fingers of his right hand unconsciously tracing the familiar lines of the intricate carvings adorning his bow, almost caressing the smooth wood. There was a soft smile on Legolas' lips and in his eyes, as he took the next arrow from his quiver and prepared for another shot.

"How is he?" Thranduil asked quietly.

Aragorn turned his head, surprised by the question, but the king's eyes remained on his son. Thranduil knew just as much about Legolas' physical and emotional well-being as he himself did, so Aragorn decided that he was seeking confirmation of his own thoughts rather than anything else. Since Thranduil had returned from his 'hunt', Legolas' nights had twice been disturbed by distressing nightmares, though his physical recovery had continued to be quick and steady since both the poison and the grief had been taken care of.

When the first nightmare occurred, Aragorn had been roused from sleep by his friend's moans and restless tossing and turning. He had woken the elf and sat with him and talked to him until both confusion and fear were gone and Legolas had calmed down again. The second time Aragorn had been woken by a scream and nearly jumped out of bed, moving towards the connecting door before he was even entirely awake, but when he reached Legolas' room he found that Thranduil was already there.

Being a light sleeper and being placed in Legolas' guest room with the door between his room and the elf's ajar most of the time, Aragorn had been well aware that Thranduil had looked in on his son almost every night since his return. The ranger had retreated quietly and closed the door behind him, knowing his friend in good hands. He had heard soft voices behind the door for a long time, and he had not heard Thranduil leave that night.

Aragorn knew that a lot had been told and shared and set to rest between father and son during those long hours, and was glad about it. In an effort to spare his father unnecessary pain, the younger elf had never spoken to him about his captivity, his feelings, and his fears, and both had suffered for it. It had been one of the times when the ranger found himself wishing that his friend would be a bit less stubborn, however well-meant the elf's intentions might have been. Both Legolas and Thranduil had seemed tired and subdued, but also more at ease after that night.

Neither Nestadren nor Aragorn had ever been able to truly explain or understand why Legolas had still not been able to control his dreams after all orc poisons and potions had finally been cleaned from his system, but to the relief of everyone involved the second nightmare had also been the last one and since then there had been no more setbacks or interruptions in the elf's recovery. After all Aragorn had seen of his friend in the meantime and today, both the healer and the friend in him were convinced that there was nothing to worry about anymore.

"He will be fine," Aragorn responded to the king's question, calm conviction in his voice, his eyes never leaving Thranduil's face.

The king finally turned his head, and their eyes met. There was a flicker of gratitude in the green eyes of the ruler, and Aragorn knew that his words had been all that was needed. He decided to add something that had been on his mind for a while now. "I believe it would be wise to make sure that he does not run into any orcs for a while, though."

Thranduil's gaze strayed back to the lone elf on the training field in front of them, who was just about to fire his third arrow. "I have been thinking about that," he said slowly, "and I agree. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you and my son were to spend some time in Rivendell together."

The sentence was half question, half suggestion. Stifling a smile, Aragorn answered, "It sounds like a good idea to me."

"Then it is agreed," Thranduil said, satisfied. "I doubt that it will be a problem to get my son's approval. Of course, you and he will be accompanied by a large contingent of my best warriors, when the time comes."

Aragorn winced inwardly at that, but he knew that there was no way around it this time. In fact, he was not sure if he himself was willing to take the risk – the Misty Mountains had not been a safe place for travellers for a long time, and after what they had been through neither Legolas nor he needed any kind of adventure for a while.

He did not look forward to having to explain to his father and brothers why they were accompanied by a large escort of the best warriors of the Woodland Realm, however. Somehow he did not believe that they would like his account, especially the part about being poisoned, chased by orcs, and almost being killed more than once. Neither would Halbarad, for that matter, once Aragorn had rejoined the rangers and explained his lengthy absence to them. He could almost hear already what all of them would have to say, and it would be a lot.

Pushing those thoughts aside with an effort, Aragorn simply nodded at the king. It might be annoying sometimes, but being worried about, scolded, and fussed over was also a precious gift he hoped he would never have to live without. It would be good to spend some time in the place he still called 'home', with his best friend at his side.

Besides, the mere thought of Legolas going on patrol again after what had nearly happened to him made the ranger feel nauseated, and he knew that his friend would not stay behind the palace walls for long. This way, the elf would be safe for a while, and prepared for whatever awaited him when he came back.

Having said everything that needed to be said, Aragorn and Thranduil sat in silence together for some long moments, watching the prince, who seemed utterly oblivious to their presence, concentrating solely on the bow and the arrow in his hands, and the target in the distance. With fluid, seemingly effortless movements, the young elf shot three arrows in quick succession, all of them hitting the center of the target.

Aragorn could not help smiling at that. Legolas would be back to his old self and his old form in no time. The elf turned around and waved at him, and suddenly the ranger noticed that there was only empty space on the straw bale beside him. Thranduil had left just as quickly and silently as he had come, without Legolas ever being aware of his presence.

The elf waved again, smiling at him, and Aragorn rose, recognizing the invitation for what it was. Grabbing his own bow and quiver, which had been leaning against the stable wall beside him, he prepared to join his friend, get some valuable advice about how to improve his archery, and make sure that Legolas did not over-exert his still-weakened arm while he was at it.

He had no doubt that this was going to be a great day.

_- The End -_


End file.
